


Starscream Memory

by KaranSeraph



Series: Memory [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Characters Pulled from Multiple Continuities, Clones, Cybertronians with Awesome Things under Helmets, F/M, Jossed, M/M, Multi, Pre-AllSpark Almanac II, Robot Feels, Seeker Courtship, Spark Sex, Sparklings, The Characters Have Seen Farscape, Toy Bio Dirge (Transformers)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-08-25
Updated: 2010-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:31:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 171,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaranSeraph/pseuds/KaranSeraph
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starscream's clones deal with his death and develop as individuals as they pull together to form a plan to save the Decepticon Faction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Slipstream and Dirge

**Author's Note:**

> I started this a years ago, but stopped updating when expanded universe canon was revealed that made fic continuity further divergent. That made me feel lost and frustrated. I would like to work on this again, with the understanding that it's just largely AU.
> 
> PS I write Slipstream often, but I wasn't as good, or consistent, with her voice back when I started Starscream Memory.

Slipstream alighted on the gray lunar soil, close to one of the breaches in the Nemesis hull, and dropped the spare parts she had been carrying to the ground. The parts sailed down slowly in the satellite's low gravitational field, and she gave them a kick as they finally touched down. Though there was not enough atmosphere to transmit the sound of the metal-on-metal impact, the vibration felt through her lower extremity was satisfying in its own way.

She continued through the breach, uncertain whether there was anything left to salvage here, but not yet having any better plan. She had inherited from her creator, as from an earlier and somewhat buggy software package, so much data and programming. She had that mech's mega-ego, and seemingly contradictory, not-above-pleading directive for self-preservation. As well she was possessed of vaulting ambition and lust for power, and had all the conniving, manipulative ability to lie, wheedle and flatter in order to climb the rungs of any hierarchy. But, perhaps most of all, she held the belief that guile and speed were keys to her success, and much more effective and efficient methods than any brute force, boasting and other mech-like posturing. Thus she felt comfortable with a plan; to use her genius level intellect and tactical brilliance to analyze all available data, and formulate the most efficient means toward a goal was most satisfying. Any glitch who did not agree with her assessments could slag the pit off, because she was most often correct and at the absolute least deserved to be listened to, if not sought for consultation!

Focus, Slipstream ordered herself. She continued into the wreckage of the former Decepticon flagship. She had logged self-generated queries, perhaps what might even be worries or fears, but these she had determinedly flagged as lower priority. First on her list of goals was collecting material and informational assets. It was fairly probably that more information and supplies would prompt her to come up with a more effective plan of action for the immediate future. She tried not to bring up the actual percent of probability into the active parts of her processors; she just seemed to operate more effectively if she acknowledged it was a positive value and quantified it as fair.

It was evident a mech with a fusion cannon had been through the wreckage; inherited memory gave Slipstream more than enough data for comparison to the present damage. None of the seeker frames appeared intact, though there were pieces enough that she might add not a few to the spare parts. She lifted a discarded pair of stasis cuffs, and with an internal command opened the access point to her subspace pocket, at her back, then slipped the cuffs inside. Megatron and St – her creator, would have known of the presence of protoforms on the Nemesis, and whether any remained; she expected the Autobots who had been through would salvaged any if there were. Slipstream could not consider them useful at the time. She could not count among her assets any spark or shard to spare for the sake of potential company.

Motion detectors alerted Slipstream to a potential threat, almost too late. She quickly ignited her thrusters and made a well-trained low-gravity evasive maneuver, strangely hopeful for an instant, as she noted the blast that narrowly missed her mid-section was consistent with a null ray. She glimpsed the teal and gold Seeker; no overt signal meant he had the Sumdac dampeners, but it was possible that information had now left Earth, so she was not able to confirm or deny whether this was another brother, or a Seeker-build loyal to Megatron. Slipstream decided quickly that claiming alliance was the most efficient method of surviving to collect more information.

Slipstream positioned her arms, and thus the attached weaponry, away from the new Seeker, and smiled disarmingly – which probably turned out more a smirk, for all she could help it – and settled again on the warped metal plating below. The guns remained trained on her, and creepily lascivious sneer and territorial posturing argued in favor of this being a fellow clone. They were on different communications frequencies, from the frustration stealing into the other Seeker's expression and posture.

Slipstream moved forward as non-threateningly as she was able, cringing internally as well as literally that she was mimicking the annoying behavior of her brothers Skywarp and Sunstorm. She was allowed to approach, and straightened slowly as she stepped up to the other Seeker. She kept her optics trained on the other's as she gestured a claw toward her audio receptors.

The other gave a slight nod. At this point, Slipstream saw two possible paths of action: she could now grab the barrels of the other's weapons and force them away from her while placing a few disabling knees and kicks, or she could tune their comms to the same frequency and allow communication between the two. Slipstream was nothing if not confident in her battle prowess, but she ultimately saw the value in avoiding conflict until such time as no other options existed; avoiding conflict simply meant less injuries, and grater potential for survival and advantageous alliances.

In a quick movement, Slipstream darted her right hand toward the other's helm and pried open the audio access panel with her claws, then quickly adjusted his comm frequency.

'This is my ship!' he commed as soon as the channel was shared. Even over internal comms, the voice in all it's high-pitched, snarky, know-it-all tone was familiar. A brother.

Slipstream flinched, and then sneered despite herself. She had, since certain recent events on Earth, noted some peculiar behavior in herself. It was one of her lower priority goals to find an explanation; she had already run a full system diagnostic. Focus, she ordered herself, again. 'Designation and Function, Seeker,' she ordered with all the haughtiness of one accustomed to the rank of Air Commander.

'Dirge,' Dirge commed instantly, and stood a bit straighter. He needed to process his reply to the second part of the query. So many to choose from! He wanted all functions to be his. He began listing ranks, titles and functions: 'Air Commander, Tyrant of the Firmament, Science Officer, Prince of the Skies, Acquisitions Officer, Herald of Your Destruction....'

Slipstreams optics rolled behind the outer lenses. 'Listen, Seeker, we have no need of all those.'

'No need? There is always need! To have more, to be better. They are mine!'

'Dirge,' Slipstream tried to sound pleasant, but she was not as able with such platitudes as Sunstorm, 'We have need of a Science Officer; assuming you received the same installation files as the rest of us, you should have skills. I calculate it highly probably your particular motivations fuel scientific curiosity as well as material gain. I will record your function as Science Officer and secondarily Acquisitions.'

Scientific curiosity? Of course! Dirge produced a pair of half-spectacles from subspace and put them to his face. 'All the answers of the universe will be mine!' He regarded the female seeker, again, 'Slipstream.' A nanosecond to access relevant data. Dirge raised his weapons again. 'You betrayed us to Megatron! You and your back-stabbing brothers! Ramjet! Sunstorm!'

'You have an update?' Slipstream demanded. This was, she thought, the only logical way that Dirge could have access to memories of the battle within the carbon mines.

'The very first chance you got!' Dirge accused, 'You turned your back on your own creator! Allied yourself w-with Megatron????'

Slipstream ignited thrusters and flew backward, with a kick, as Dirge fired on her. She twisted to evade and fired back. 'As if St – He wasn't the most backstabbing, traitorous mech?' Slipstream fired again, but she saw as soon as she had, the shot would be wide. She knew, though she would not admit it to her brothers, she had, as much as they had, inherited weaknesses as well as strengths. Her temper. She must repress it. Get control. Focus.

'Ah, curious!' Dirge sang out over their comm channel, 'What a display of emotion! I want it! So much anger; it is an energy!'

'Then rip-out your circuits and cry, Dirge, because He's dead!' Slipstream raged, 'He was ours! Our Creator! And no Decepticon deserved such a death; they couldn't even let him go out fighting! The shard was ripped out of Him! He was a pathetic, egotistical, simpering, lying, greedy coward, but he was ours! No one else should have been allowed to kill him!' 

Dirge flew close; Slipstream's emotions clearly blinded her to outside threats. Dirge understood: ours. Our creator. He touched his claws lightly to Slipstream's arms. 'There now, give me the truth. Tell me. Is Starscream truly dead?'

'Don't even speak His name,' Slipstream pleaded.

Dirge understood the concept of loss; it was anathema to him. He did not fully grasp why Slipstream should feel such seemingly tangible pain, and he should not possess the same feeling. They had the same creator, and that mech was now deactivated. Should he not possess the same emotion, or even more emotion? Should he not howl at the loss? 'Why?'

'I don't know,' Slipstream admitted. She normally got snarky and threatened violence if her brothers put their claws on her, but as creepy as Dirge had seemed shortly before, Slipstream felt able to function more normally with a brother holding her. She put her hands to Dirge's neck and tipped her head so the top of her helm touched Dirge's jaw. 

The lack of atmosphere did not allow for howls or cries or screams to be heard, but when Dirge switched on his engine and turbines, the vibrations moved through the both of them. It was music. What seemed at first, to Slipstream, symptom of a poorly-tuned engine, was a mournful song. Dirge sang everything that Slipstream felt; the wretched feeling of loss of an individual and with Him all seeming normalcy in the universe; a rage at the unwelcome change; fear that life would never get better again.

It was clearly inefficient, especially as she had no need to fly, but even so, Slipstream revved her own engine and idled, singing along with Dirge such as she was able. After a short while, Slipstream felt better. Not whole, not entirely unconfused, not good, but a lot better than before. The engine noise was shut off.

'Grief is a normal response to the termination of life,' Dirge commed.

Slipstream lifted her head, claws of her right hand prying at one of the capped ports on Dirge's neck. 'Share something with me?'

'Share? Share what is mine?'

'I am not asking to access your very shard, Brother. I seek only a secure hardline download of information: your update. I just need to know if He left any sort of message, or plan, anything for me...for us. I am your sister: kindred in shard and shell; any information shared with me is still there for you to access, only I will also have it as well. I am your sister, so in a way, my assets add to your assets, in having me as a sister. Our kindred is stronger as a whole, for everything gained by any one among us. You do want to have more, right?'

'I might share, if there was direct gain for me. Perhaps you have memory files I do not yet have.'

'Agreed,' Slipstream commed quickly. She pried off the cap on Dirge's neck to expose an i/o port. Then, as quickly, she accessed a port on the left of her neck and ran a retractable cable between the two. Typical, she thought as she located the file. St – He had not assimilated the update into Dirge's backup installation files, but left it separate. Slipstream began the download. Once the data was hers and passed her immune sub-routines, she assimilated the file into her own installation backup; it was more effective, should she ever have need to fall back on her original installation files. Slipstream initiated an update protocol to refresh her active memory to include the new update.

Half-aware of Dirge's uploading, Slipstream lifted her hand and disconnected the hardline connection. 'Let's not get too greedy,' she commed pleasantly. Even as she tucked the cable back into her neck, she processed the new data from the update. It was part of her now, in His point-of view: creating the clones, His opinions of them, His plans, His goals, the hurt caused by their betrayal, the time spent alone with Megatron, manipulating Lugnut and Shockwave. All of it, up until the setting of the dead-mech switch to activate Dirge, just in case. Was it some means to getting in the last word, or laugh, that the newest clone's designation referenced a mournful song? So like Him.

Slipstream smiled, smirked really. 'I think I have a plan!'


	2. Thundercracker and Skywarp

“My plan is going marvelously,” Thundercracker declared loudly.

“Please do not shout when I have my claws in your neural network,” Skywarp whispered.

“A manual defrag is hardly equivalent to splicing neural relays or sensory nodes,” Thundercracker stated plainly, “much as I have found our little alliance surprisingly beneficial, I would not trust your rudimentary maintenance skills with a mind as complex as my own.” The tone was imperious, as usual.

“Sharp claws; exposed cranial casing,” Skywarp warbled.

Thundercracker was, finally, silent, and leaned back comfortably against Skywarp, his wings touching Skywarp's knees. Skywarp went back to work, sliding clawtips over the diagnostic touchscreen plugged into Thundercracker's head; his helm had been removed, exposing ports, sensors and the mass of silvery filaments that served as heat sink. Skywarp continued shuffling blocks of data to maximize his partner's file integrity, speed of access and overall performance. It had been stated between them that Thundercracker had sub-subroutines as capable of this basic maintenance; automated; he could run them while recharging. Skywarp often ran his own defrag routine upon recharging. He understood very well this was a tedious task many would find unworthy of an elite Decepticon air warrior, and though he had finally sold Thundercracker on this aspect of their deal, by observing that in their creator's memories, even Megatron had not had such a loyal and devoted mech to personally defrag his memory cores, the task was really for Skywarp's own benefit.

Skywarp viewed the precise arranging of blocks of data as something of a puzzle game. The detail-oriented and repetitive task gave him a point of focus that aided greatly in avoiding all the anxious supposition and query that usually ran through his processors.

And, Skywarp had needed to come up with a seemingly invasive procedure, in exchange for allowing Thundercracker to look at his operating code, in order to alter his transwarp programming for the current marvelously-going plan. Thundercracker's concession had allayed some of Skywarp's fear of allowing anyone to view and alter his programming; it was very personal: it was him. But scared as he had been, Skywarp knew Thundercracker's plan was smart. Skywarp's own warping range was limited, and their fuel reserves and flight capabilities were simply not sufficient for interstellar travel. They needed to use the space bridges. Of course the space bridge network was controlled by Autobots; ordinarily security and receiving codes would be required. But given that Skywarp did have an internal transwarp navigation system, it was possible that he might, with a few new subroutines and protocols, directly control a nearby space bridge by remote.

And as Thundercracker had implied, marvelously, the plan was working. It had taken time, but after some trial and error, Skywarp had been able to control the space bridges. Secretly, Skywarp found Thundercracker's coding functional, but inelegant. Warping, with or without a bridge, seemed to take more processing power and time than it had previously. He thought he might ask Slipstream to look at it, if he ever saw her again; she seemed to know how to write clean code.

Now, numerous jumps through the network from their original stranded position, they were taking time to recharge before heading closer to Cybertron. Skywarp was uncertain whether he would see his creator or sister again. Recently, Thundercracker had managed to locate a Cybertronian data net with his comms. Neither was fluent in Autobot, other than to discuss scientific process, and the Decepticon info on the net was clearly speculative and full of contradiction. Megatron, for example, was either offlined, captured by Autobots, reformatted under a new name, or now in control of Cybertron. However, the rumor that two clones, whom they knew as Sunstorm and Ramjet, were in Autobot custody and awaiting trial was enough to convince Thundercracker that his superior services were needed.

The diagnostic screen informed Skywarp that Thundercracker was in recharge mode. He felt a bit anxious knowing his partner was not keeping watch over him, and lifted his head to survey their surroundings. They had concealed themselves in a pile of aerospace wreckage plowed from the space bridge's approach on this planetoid. Skywarp detected no movement or sign of danger; no one had even tried to use this bridge, since their arrival.

Skywarp finished the defrag, disconnected the diagnostic screen, and then slipped down between the warped hull fragment of a Quintesson ship and Thundercracker's wings. He activated automated sensors to alert him of proximity or movement that may pose a threat, then started his usual self-diagnostic and maintenance routines. At that, Skywarp settled against Thundercracker's back and powered down to recharge mode. 

Thundercracker came fully back online before Skywarp. Even as his systems powered up, he could sense Skywarp's position. He always managed to get himself into some needy, possessive entanglement of limbs when they recharged together. Not that Thundercracker entirely minded; he had come to find it flattering. He liked flattery, particularly if it came from individuals who did not repeat their platitudes to every pathetic organism they met.

It had been annoying at first: the sniveling, cringing coward of a clone begging to not be left alone or in the dark, or where it was too cold, or where he felt like things were watching him, or where the shadows were scary. But, reaching a point at which even his supreme endurance waned and he needed recharge, Thundercracker had decided to forget arguing that Skywarp was unworthy, as a means of being able to rest. That first time, Thundercracker had onlined aware that his recharge cycle had been sublimely undisturbed; he was operating efficiently, temperature gages in the green: he felt good. He turned to look on Skywarp, sensors knowing his position, and the vision had startled him. Skywarp was smiling.

There had been no smirking, no frown, or pout; no cringing, no trembling, no shivering. Just that peaceful, beatific smile and that steady, adoring gaze. At that moment Thundercracker had discovered two things: first, that he hadn't been half as full of himself as the others said, for he was swelling up with more pride than he had ever felt before; and second, Skywarp might actually be quite worthy of his attention. In fact, in his relaxed pose, Skywarp was clearly as handsome as one would expect of a clone of the self-proclaimed most handsome Decepticon. Maybe, he was even cuter.

Then that malfunction, Ramjet, had walked by and the movement and shifting light had spooked Skywarp so he cringed. Thundercracker had glared hatefully at the liar for spoiling his blissful ego-boosting moment.

Of course, Skywarp had come back for more. Thundercracker had not seen Skywarp seek the company or protection of the others. And, for that matter, neither Starscream nor Slipstream seemed inclined to seek out the other, though both thought themselves attractive, capable and worthy of adoration. Skywarp was seeking Thundercracker. Therefore, Thundercracker was attractive, or a suitable protector, or perhaps a potential provider. Most likely all three.

The continued attention was validation for Thundercracker's healthy self-image. He had begun to chafe under Starscream's leadership, and he had no intentions of playing at being a loyal follower to Megatron either. So, of course he had taken the first opportunity he saw to distance himself from the petty Decepticon in-fighting and taken Skywarp with him. It had all been part of his brilliantly deceptive plan. A complete success, of course. And now, his current plan: going marvelously, with a little help from Skywarp.

Thundercracker lifted the foot of black and violet tail rudders and thrusters from his lap and turned slowly. He must have set off his high-strung partner's motion sensors, he decided, when he saw Skywarp sit upright and raise his null rays. “No. NO! Not TENTACLES!” Skywarp shouted. His engine roared into function as his ever-so-keen flight response took over.

Thundercracker quickly took hold of Skywarp's arms, thus aiming the weapons away from his person. He called out, “Skywarp!” and then commed on their private channel, 'You are safe. I am here.'

Skywarp shuddered. He was afraid the pressure on his arms meant he'd been put in stasis cuffs.

'Stay with me. We are safe here.'

Skywarp's optics glowed fiercely red, and then dimmed to normal, as his engine powered down. He looked at Thundercracker, seeing him then. “It was so horrible. T-tentacles!” Stammering again, and after so much progress.

“It is but random, false sensory input generated while you are in recharge. It cannot hurt you.”

“I-I know, b-but I was so scared,” Skywarp said timidly. “I'm sorry, Thundercracker. I usually – I mean, I do feel safe with you. It was just random and false, like you said. I was not in control.”

Thundercracker slipped his hands into Skywarp's. “Of course. I am possessed of wisdom enough to know it takes courage to admit your fears and to overcome them. I would not be so ignorant as to hold recharge images against a mech. I am truly proud of your progress.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” Thundercracker said quickly, “Did I not devise several effective techniques for you to combat you fears?”

Skywarp made no vocal reply, but the bowed head, slack posture and low wings communicated disappointment enough.

Thundercracker dropped Skywarps hands and distanced himself, thinking on the matter. “I want you to smile.”

Skywarp forced a wavering smile. He felt bad, as if not being able to control himself in recharge was a sign of weakness. He really wanted to be stronger. He wanted to be more like Thundercracker, who, even being only half of what he claimed, was still superior to so many mechs out there; he might very well be worthy of a high ranking position in the Decepticon faction. He was fast, agile, intelligent, powerful....

“No. I want you to really smile. I want to see you – you – Skywarp....”

“What is it?”

Thundercracker threw up his arms in frustration, his wings vibrating with agitation. “It is ludicrous someone such as yourself being afraid of tentacles! Null rays do work on organics! I notice how you favor using them over other weapons, but even,” Thundercracker raged, “even without them you have claws, fangs, sharp wings, and thrusters to fight with. You are just as fast as Starcream, as capable at performing evasive maneuvers as Slipstream, and you are the sneakiest Decepticon I have met! You can transwarp! It is unthinkable you should fear tentacles, attached to Quintessons or otherwise. You would not even need me there to protect you. You can take care of yourself.” 

He could? He could. Skywarp laughed loudly, a broad smile on his face, showing fangs. “Oh, you're right. Thundercracker. You're right.”

“Of course I am,” Thundercracker replied immediately, optics on Skywarp's face.

“I guess I am pretty awesome.”

“Do not get too full of yourself.” Thundercracker purposefully turned his head so as to not deign to look upon Skywarp.

“Not as awesome as you of course

“Of course not.”

“But I can take care of myself,” Skywarp said, mischievousness entering his tone, “and I can control space bridges now, that must be a highly desired and salable skill.”

“What of it?” Thundercracker asked, full of suspicion.

“Well, I don't really need you, do I?”

Thundercracker did not speak, was suddenly uncertain whether he could speak. He hurt. He turned again and he saw that smile he had been wanting. He felt confused, but hopeful. “'Warp?”

“Do you think – If you don't mind – could I be your 2IC?”

“Too Icy?

'Two-I-C, Second-in-Command. Get it?' Skywarp commed.

“You are asking my permission to be my 2IC?” The pride was swelling up again. He even appreciated the face-saving gesture of supplying information over their private channel.

“And, unlike certain mechs, I will be loyal.”

Skywarp, who had just claimed not to need him, whose smile he craved, was offering to take a secondary position, thus acknowledging him, Thundercracker, as his leader? Skywarp watched hopefully for Thundercracker's response. He saw the imperious posture and expression return. “I would not have it any other way, Dear Skywarp, and as my new Second-in-Command, you may expect that, unlike certain other leaders, I will listen to your advise and give it fair consideration. It is only proper, given our positions, and I will be a proper leader.”

“All hail Thundercracker!” Skywarp sang. 'And unlike certain mechs, I will not question you in public and complain to my fellows that you do not listen to me.'

Thundercracker gave a nod at the private communication. “And unlike certain other leaders, I will commend you publicly when you perform especially well.”

“And I, Oh Mighty Thundercracker, will lend my support to your plans.”

“And I, Dear, Dear Skywarp, will be certain to entrust you with challenging tasks vital to our cause and respect your decisions in carrying out these tasks.”

Skywarp liked this game. “I will do my best, Sir!'

“Oh, and Skywarp, if you disappoint me and do exceptionally poorly, I will find a means to punish you accordingly that shall not entail any grievous or permanent harm; a Leader as intelligent as myself would not want his mechs in non-functional status, nor would I want to give you any reason to betray me.”

“I will make certain you don't have to punish me very much!” Skywarp said cheerfully. He was smirking, even.

It was curious, Thundercracker thought, that Skywarp had indicate little punishment, as opposed to none at all. He thought for a while, then commed privately, 'Dark. Cold. Alone. Stasis Cuffs.' It was no one else's business how he dealt with his subordinate.


	3. It's Kinda Like Draft Dodging

Slipstream dearly hoped Dirge could control his greed enough to stick to the business at hand. She was alone, for the most part, in free fall above Earth, in alt-mode, cockpit toward the planet, tethered to a human-made satellite by her i/o cables, and towing a slightly damaged stasis chamber containing spare parts. They needed fuel, and that had necessitated at least one of them making the trip to Earth. As she had allowed Dirge to claim the function of Acquisitions Officer, and she was the one more suited to break through the weak encryption on the satellite, being her self the designated Information Officer as well as Air Commander, it made sense to send Dirge. Slipstream only hoped he did not get too distracted and bring back a lot of junk.

Slipstream focused then on her own task. She had accessed the commercial satellite's communications and traffic monitoring systems. In Geo-synchronous orbit over North America, Slipstream was able to access the satellite's near-real-time images of Detroit. The Autobots lead by Optimus Prime had regrouped on Earth and were making plans to leave for Cybertron. Slipstream planned to hitch a ride; if done carefully, the Autobots would never know it.

She had a clear view of the old automobile factory where they headquartered. In her time hiding on Earth, Slipstream had learned much. Detroit had once been widely known for manufacturing the ground vehicles humans herded for labor as transports. In the last 50 solar years of their calender, their automobile industry had declined and manufacturing of more varied robotic laborers, reverse engineered from Cybertronian technology had flourished. Now, they even had among them a human Cybertronian hybrid: that techno-organic designated Sari Sumdac. Slipstream wondered if Earth might progress along a path similar to Cybertron's history, in which robotic laborers had gained sentience enough to rebel against their organic masters. She also worried about Earth or Cybertron becoming planets occupied by techno-organics; Slipstream was not certain she liked this idea.

Slipstream monitored the coming and goings from the Autobot HQ and Sumdac tower. She was certain they were planning on leaving soon. Their old transporter, Omega Supreme would need recharge before making another trip. It appeared Sari was to travel with the Cybertronians. They had, Slipstream counted, six Autobots, not including their transporter, one deactivated Autobot to transport to Cybertron for final rites, three salvaged protoforms in stasis, and three Decepticon prisoners. They also had the All Spark.

Slipstream realized, that if she wanted to ingratiate herself to the Decepticon faction, there was an opportunity. She and Dirge could attack, free Megatron and his two most loyal lieutenants, capture the All Spark, and become legendary. But, when she thought about it, Slipstream knew that if she did that, she would in some fashion become nothing but a substitute for her creator. She would take His place, and rankle under Megatron's leadership, obsession with powerful new toys, and penchant for brute force. She would try to back-stab and overthrow Megatron, but capable as she truly was, her quick temper and strong emotions would cause make some rash mistake, and she would fail.

Sometimes, Slipstream felt very conflicting emotions. For example, she had very clearly told Him that any other leader would be better, and claimed to follow Megatron, but she had actually know on some level that she was lying. She knew serving Megatron was a mistake. And she also knew there were less capable leaders in the universe. But, she'd still said the words. It was as if she wanted someone to catch her in the lie and say, “Don't follow Megatron, because I can offer you something better.” Slipstream wanted to believe such words. She wanted someone to say them.

Lately she wondered if she might actually have a glitch. Maybe it was due to the fact that although she was undeniably a femme, she had installed memories of many years as Him. She was a femme who clearly remembered being a mech. And if that was not the problem, then maybe He really had had some malfunction, which she had now inherited.

It was illogical: to invite challenge, to want someone to argue and disagree. It was so inefficient. Why did she find it so much easier to circumvent the truth, than to just be forthcoming and give direct answers?

Irritated, Slipstream pinged Dirge, inquiring on his status. He commed back, momentarily, 'I so wanted to speak to you, and then I got your ping, now I have you....'

'Dirge. Report Status.'

'Humans have so many varied funeral customs and rites, for example there are a few taboos concerning chopsticks....'

'Status of your mission, Dirge. Have you acquired what we need ?'

'More or less. I have downloaded a collection of exquisitely dour audio recordings from regions designated Germany and Scandinavia.'

'Slagging focus, you glitch! Did you get what we actually need: oil, fuel...?'

'Such emotion, My Sister. Yes. I went to your hiding place for the last of the energon. I went to the island, the aircraft museum and the mines.'

Slipstream forced herself to calm, comforted Dirge had at least got the essentials. 'Understood. You have a little time. Just don't collect so many souvenirs that you can't reach escape velocity.'

A pause. 'Affirmative. Dirge out.'

It was laughable, Slipstream thought, a Seeker forgetting something as ingrained as fuel/mass ratios. Even the miracle of subspace storage had some limits. Dirge was going to want his very own transwarp dimension. One of these days, someone was going to cause the universe to crash and reset at v2.0, or whatever version and build they were actually on.

Dirge returned to Slipstream sometime later. He transformed to his root mode. Slipstream was still in alt-mode, connected to the satellite; she was viewing an intercepted commercial broadcasting signal. It was not the first time she had been so bored as to get sucked into the talk show travails of dysfunctional human interpersonal relationships. It made Slipstream feel superior to learn of their failed relationships, addictions and messy organi-medical conditions.

At least she knew who her creator was. Their sticky courtship dance was just disgusting. Courtship, fueling new-sparked protoforms, the extremely inefficient fueling process of upgraded organisms: so much fluid exchange and secretion.

'Are the Autobots leaving yet?' Dirge asked.

Slipstream shifted her attention. 'Presently. They are boarding their transporter now. You remember the plan?' She disconnected from the satellite and then transformed. Dirge was pulling containers from subspace.

'I have made the information my own.'

Slipstream took her portion of the supplies, which Dirge reluctantly offered, including the oscillating fan Dirge had picked-up from the boat house in which she had been hiding. She could not recall comparable Cybertronian devices, and wondered why not; the fan alleviated some of the claustrophobia of hiding in an enclosed place away from the sky.

Dirge was the first to lock-on to the Autobot transporter. Slipstream calculated the intercept course, even as Dirge sent the data to her. Omega was moving in an arc, with the spin of the planet, and would make a partial orbit before correcting course for Cybertron.

Slipstream and Dirge transformed into their Earth-style aerospace alt-modes and approached the giant Autobot from above, sliding into the wake of his rockets. They flew just close enough to feel the heat, but not so close as to peel the outer layer of nanites. Slipstream then reached out with her sensors and monitored the Autobot transporter for any shift in movement or temperature, or burst of maneuvering thrusters.

'Now,' she prompted Dirge, and in well synchronized movements, they each peeled, rolled and made for Omega's underside. Slipstream launched grappling cables to anchor herself to an armored hull section and sensed Dirge do the same. Slipstream even managed to maneuver gracefully towing the spare parts.

If her calculations were correct, and they were based on observations made when previously facing the large mech in battle, their touch would be so light as to be unnoticed. Omega's sensory nodes needed to be sensitive enough to alert him to serious damage, but not so sensitive that every spec of space dust caused him pain enough to distract him from his function. Hitching a ride on the Autobot's belly meant they were out of reach of his main cannon, and protected from meteorite impacts, by his forward-facing shields. And hopefully Dirge's recent research and development, in a quest for more stealth, would assure that their Decepticon energy signatures were dampened wherever they went.

Dirge was unable to decide if he wanted more recharge, or wanted more time before he needed to recharge. Slipstream suggested they both rest while they were able, and hinted to Dirge that he would want to be awake later, when they neared Cybertron as there would be new sights, data and things to make his own.

As they neared Cybertron, the automated warnings Slipstream had set woke her from recharge. Omega was breaking as he approached the machine-planet, setting off motion and temperature alarms. 'Now?!' Dirge was asking.

Slipstream was almost too late. 'Now,' she ordered, after some astroseconds. They disengaged from the hull and looped back around to put themselves some distance behind the Autobot transporter.

'Cyberton!' Dirge said over their comm, 'It will all be mine. Yes, I will have it.'

'You wouldn't be the first Decepticon with such ambitions,' Slipstream reminded Dirge, 'but face the Autobots on what is now their home territory, without an army and a plan, and you will not even have your own freedom left!'

'Then, where, My Sister?'

Slipstream cycled through frequencies on her short range and subspace comms. 'Accessing a Cybertronian data net. Malgus 0809 zeta on your standard band.'

'Yes! More information. Come to me!'

Slipstream skated through all the goo on the net: Win cruise to Paradron; Help deposed Nebulan leader funnel his money into Cybertron; Top Eight Feelies at the Holomatter Theater; Visit the Hydrax Pleasurebot Palace, conveniently located near the spaceport.

'There is a trade nexus on the second moon, seems the kind of place they let foreign visitors frequent. Saves the organics from having to go planetside. We might try to hide there while we collect more info. Better than trying to go directly to Cybertron with these brands on our wings.' Or wings at all, she thought to herself. The Autobot Elite guard had a pair of jets now, but they were oddly wingless. Slipstream had not faced them, but she supposed they relied heavily on rockets and thrusters and were fast, but much less maneuverable than a Seeker.


	4. You and What Armada?

Thundercracker dropped slowly from the transwarp bubble of yet another space bridge, thrusters slowing his decent, as he continued conversation from the other side, 'You did something to my spires. My helm does not fit perfectly!'

'No. Nothing,' Skywarp insisted, just behind him. Of course he had run his claws all through the silvery filaments, but he was not so loyal as to risk Thundercracker's anger. Maybe, Skywarp thought, Thundercracker's head had finally swelled beyond the fit of his helm. He giggled.

'Do not think I do not know you are mocking the size of my ego, Skywarp.' Thundercracker combed claws through his spires, holding his helm in his opposite hand. He began to survey their new surroundings.

'My Lord's insight serves him well,' Skywarp said drearily, over their comms, and then more cheerfully, 'Your spires make you look distinguished. I didn't get them. Slipstream and I got photo-voltaic filaments, and don't have an extra heat sink.'

Thundercracker wondered how it was clones could be so varied, but he supposed that if Starscream's CNA had carried code for the various traits, some slight variation during the cloning process could account for the differences. Or, it was the AllSpark. At the moment, Thundercracker was more concerned with the structures on the horizon of the small planet.

'Looks Autobot; lot of warm-toned alloys,' Skywarp commed.

'It is one of their colonies: outposts along the space bridge network. Usually there would be a security team.'

'120 degrees, coming in low. Got a blip.'

'Decepticon,' Thundercracker commed, 'no dampening.'

He came in fast, in Cybertronian aerospace craft alt-mode, the grayish-purple that was not uncommon in Decepticon exostructure. The Decepticon transformed, taking on a lanky bipedal form with pronounced points on his helm. He quickly drew a pair of swords. He called out in Decepticon, voice rasping, either due to the thin atmosphere, or perhaps the nature of his vocalizer. “Starscream? Is that you? We heard you were dead.”

Thundercracker sneered. “Here's a hint,” He growled, and threw his helm at Cyclonus. Skywarp watched on, considering his move, as Thundercracker fired thrusters and launched himself bodily toward the other Decepticon. Skywarp also recognized Cyclonus. The Decepticons had been operating in small resistance cells for ages now, but Starscream's position had allowed him access to files on all of them, if he had not also met them face to face. “You dare have the audacity to mistake me for that inferior template?” Thundercracker demanded, swiping claws at Cyclonus and tearing the armor plating

“Clones,” Cyclonus spit. He leaped back, out of Thundercracker's reach and held him at bay with his swords. “We were warned of you, when Megatron raised the bounty on your creator.”

Skywarp looked to the structures in the distance, and then to the battle. He had been in a battle before. Oddly, he thought, he was not frightened of warfare in itself, but of so many things that could, even if by some small chance, happen during the battle. He was afraid of being thrown into a sharp pointy object and thus dying from the accidental impalement, rather than any strike from a foe.

“Nothing but a pair of black repaints!” Cyclonus taunted.

“I cannot stand your raspy voice. I am going to rip out your vocalizer” – Skywarp was also afraid of enemies calling in reinforcements just when he thought he might have the upper hand – “and shove it up your exhaust port, then see how you sing for me!”

Skywarp concentrated on a short-distance warp.

“You and what armada?” Cyclonus growled as he raised his right-hand sword for an attack.

Skywarp languidly lifted an arm and shot Cyclonus in the back. “This one,” He whispered, smirk on his face. Cyclonus fell forward, swords falling harmlessly either side of Thundercracker. 'He's only stunned, if you want to hurt him some more,' Skywarp commed. He stepped lightly up onto Cyclonus's back and folded his arms across his cockpit. Thundercracker looked stunned, though he hadn't been hit by a null ray. 'Are you-? I was just afraid he would call for back-up.'

Thundercracker straightened, posture once again regal, in comparison to his feral battle stance. 'Good work, Commander,” he said coolly.

Skywarp hopped down from their conquered foe, as Thundercracker gave a gesture. They turned Cyclonus's body. As Skywarp said, he was stunned into stasis by the null ray, but not deactivated. Skywarp crouched beside Thundercracker, nervously watching the distant structures, the ground, the spacebridge, Cyclonus, the structures again. “There were Autobots here. This atmosphere is too thin and dry to quickly erode their tire tracks.”

Thundercracker gave a wordless growl of acknowledgment as he pried at Cyclonus's armor with his claws. “Get his helm off,” he said then.

“Do you think he has something valuable on him?” Skywarp asked, even as he obediently unplugged the helm from Cyclonus's head.

“You need energon-”

“N-no, no, no. From him? Drink right from his fuel lines? Like s-some energy leech, or giant transorganic energy leech, or a v-vampire, or a space vampire?”

Thundercracker looked to Skywarp, looked right at his face. “Skywarp.”

“B-but!”

“I do not want to be that leader who regularly beats on his 2IC, but you are acting REALLY STUPID right now!” Thundercracker lifted his right hand and flexed his claws, then clenched them into a fist. “For Spark's sake, I am not asking you to let him drink your energon!” He groaned, accidentally doing a very good impersonation of Megatron. “How are you still scared when you are the vampire? I do not believe I am even having this conversation...space leeches?”

Skywarp did not attempt to correct Thundercracker. “I'll try, if...” Skywarp whispered and then trailed off. He watched Thundercracker. Skywarp had been with him long enough to recognize Thundercracker's moods and expressions. This seemed one of those times in which Thundercracker's ego conflicted with effectively communicating such things as needs or wishes.

As Skywarp thought, Thundercracker did not know how to express everything that was less than perfect about this situation. “No part of his insignificant, raspy, dim-sparked piece of scrap is truly worthy to touch your chattering mouth, My Dear Skywarp. These vampires are nothing to me, but I share your disgust for relying on these means of sustenance. However, my shrewd deductive skills must conclude you desperately need to refuel. I can see the warping drains you, and you have been using your null rays. Soon we will do something grand, but for now, my brilliant plan calls for stealth and sneakiness. Now, be the loyal soldier I know you are and do this for me.”

Maybe, Skywarp thought, Thundercracker had avoided using his guns and sonic attacks not only because he took seeming pleasure in rending foes with his bare claws. “Yes, Sir. Sorry to have concerned you. I'll do it for you, Sir.”

“Excellent,” Thundercracker sighed, relieved. He looked on as Skywarp, very hesitantly, leaned over the stasis-locked Decepticon, over the exposed frame, cables, circuits and fuel lines.

Skywarp pierced the largest fuel line with his fangs and slurped up the energon as it bled out. His receptors could taste the level of purity; it was not a pure source, but it would sustain him for some time. When he'd had enough, Skywarp sat back. Thundercracker was looking at him in a curious manner; the expression was one Skywarp had seen a few times before. “What? Do I look sparkley!?” Skywarp panicked.

“No, you just....” Thundercracker traced the shape of his mouth with the tip of one claw.

Skywarp lolled the cluster of sense receptors from his mouth and licked the energon clean. He smiled. Thundercracker still had that curious, almost-blank-but-something-else expression. Skywarp decided it was the look of not understanding why his ego allowed him to care whether another individual was happy enough to smile. 'Did I look pretty just then, with someone else's energon smeared across my lips?”

“Yes.” Thundercracker shook himself and looked away. “That is, a little. Just barely, really.”

Skywarp still smiled.

“My regal visage needs no such embellishments, you know.”

Skywarp laughed. “I have noticed-” Skywarp was shocked out of any further banter as Thundercracker launched himself over Cyclonus and knocked Skywarp onto his back. Skywarp decided that all of this had nothing to do with how cute he was, when he followed Thundercracker's distant gaze and saw at least three big Decepticons running toward them. Sensors said there were actually five, in all; the very small blip was closer than the other four.

'Strategic withdraw,' Thundercracker commed privately. 'I will hold them. Activate the bridge.' Thundercracker stood, and seeing Skywarp scurry away, picked up Cyclonus's helm and swords. He tried the helm, and found it fit perfectly. The swords? Yes, he had been certain he had sword fighting protocols buried somewhere in his code. He would wield them magnificently.

Skywarp only glanced back at the approaching Decepticons. He was so terrified what they might do to Thundercracker, he felt no fear for himself. Strangely calm, Skywarp concentrated on the space bridge. Warping was natural to him, ingrained, but it still involved exceedingly complex equations. To use his transwarp navigation system to activate and control the nearby bridge was somewhat more complicated than the usually complex equations. In fact, Skywarp could not explain how he did it, he just did it. Even so, the process did take mental effort, time and energy. It might even seem instantaneous to another, but in those astroseconds, Skywarp's processor was consumed with variable: everything that might go wrong if an equation was off, the plotting of origin and destination points that move relative to each other in space-time, that fleeting moment that was both instantaneous and infinite, in which the warp took place, that space in which he was both there and also not.

Something was ruining his concentration, something small, creepy, touching him.

'Thundercracker!'

'Do not think, just do it. I will be right behind you.'

Skywarp had the bridge in his control. He had established the origin point. Something...crawling. Thundercracker was relying on him. Thundercracker was awesome, but Blackout was so big, and Oil Slick did atrocious things, and Strika.... Don't think, just do it, Skywarp told himself. There was no time to worry about himself. He had the points connected!

'Thundercracker!'

'Fly. Go. I will be there.'

Skywarp had a momentary glimpse of the battle as he made for the active transwarp bubble. Oilslick was down, as Cyclonus still was, and Thundercracker was standing his ground against three especially large Decepticons. Just as he reached the bubble, Skywarp saw the shift in Thundercracker's posture and knew what was coming. It was too late to worry about the effects of sonic booms on transwarp bubbles. The compressed atmosphere went with him.

Skywarp came through on the other side of the bridge and promptly crashed as the boom sounded.

Thundercracker, on the other side, saw Strika and Spittor fall. Blackout, the mass that he was, still stood. Thundercracker could sense Skywarp had gone. He just needed to wait for the last possible moment, so that Blackout could not follow across the bridge. The other four would not be up in time to pose a threat. Four? Five. There was one missing. Cyclonus, plus the five that had prompted the withdraw, was six, and yet there were only five here now, which meant: one of them was with Skywarp.


	5. Ramjet and Sunstorm

“Two-one-three, two-one-five, here it is: two-one-seven.”

“Thank the Dark God that at least Swindle is still roaming free,” Ramjet said bitterly as he watched through the glowing bars, as the autotroopers lead the arms dealer into cell 217.

Swindle gave a quick turn of his head in acknowledgment then gave a jaunty shrug as he turned to his cell. “I told the Manager I had such a pleasant stay last time, I'd like the same room!” He told the autotroopers, seemingly amused with himself. “Hey there, Vortex. How're they spinning?”

Swindle's cell mate, deprived of his rotor blades, just glared. Ramjet was certain he'd wait until the 'troopers were out of line-of-site before welcoming his roomie. Blitzwing could be heard down the corridor, singing show tunes, again. The 'troopers, having secured Swindle, moved on to tell Blitzwing to reduce volume.

Sunstorm, who had been recharging, stepped up and stood near Ramjet. “Oh, it's our most reliable and trustworthy haberdasher, Swindle. So nice of him to join us.”

“I'm sure it was downright considerate of him,” Ramjet snarked.

Sunstorm touched a claw-tip to the glowing bars and did not flinch from the energy discharge, as was expected when a prisoner made contact with the force bars. He kept his claw there for a bit, and then with a flourish of his hand produced what looked like a small spark suspended over his claw-tips. In another flourish, the energy was absorbed, no longer visible to sensors.

Ramjet was aware of Sunstorms actions, but he kept his optics on the cell across the way. Swindle and Vortex were bent low and speaking to each other conspiratorially; all their comms were dampened within the prison. Ramjet had really thought those cell mates would not get along, but now it seemed they were both regular guests and familiar with each other. Frequent visits to an Autobot prison on Cybertron meant either the Autobots were even weaker than Ramjet suspected, or those two had successfully escaped at least once before.

“So, My Friends,” Swindle said, walking toward his own force bars. He touched a finger to the bars briefly and jumped at the shock. “What's the news? I heard my favorite customer decided to make a visit.”

“We are fortunate to be surrounded by most unique and special guests,” Sunstorm said pleasantly.

“No delusional, zealous, mad, random mechs in this block,” Ramjet said bitingly.

“I hear ya,” Swindle said, familiar with Ramjet's manner of speech. “but are any of them useful?”

“Oh sure,”Ramjet said. “The squishy over there is my biological son,” he tipped his head, “and Kranix over here is a completely stable fellow who does not buy into any nihilistic theories about the coming of dark gods. And lucky you, got the cell right next to the Emperor of all Decepticons.” Ramjet sincerely believed Galvatron was delusional and not an emperor of anything.

“I don't think the newsparks really understand the nature of Decepticon leadership,”Vortex said, as if to Swindle; clearly he mocked the clones' lack of personal experience.

“Do enlighten us,” Sunstorm encouraged, “Clearly a mech of your fine temperament and witticism has had a life full of experience. I so envy you. To have the experience the first hand knowledge that you must! I can only imagine the hard knocks of Autobot prejudice, the camaraderie of so many terrorist cells, the tremendous din of battle, constantly on point, on watch, anticipating how the next enemy will break, time in so many prisons. I do not know how someone as weak as I would deal with the tension, the bad memory loops when I try to recharge. Perhaps some high grade at the end of the day, but if that did not do, I might have to inhale volatile substances until my circuits started to corrode.”

Vortex launched himself at the bars, but only got a shock and fell back, twitching, to the floor.

“Now that's a sane, stable mech,” Ramjet said.

“Listen, Friends, have you wondered why you're in this block?” Swindle asked. He did give a glance backward to see that Vortex still functioned.

“No, we're so dim we didn't notice,” Ramjet said, “It's because I spin even the harshest truths and flaws into sycophantic flattery such that it isn't really flattery anymore, and he is so bitingly sarcastic nothing he says can be taken literally.”

“Just so long as you know,” Swindle said plainly, and then, “But, back to business. Would you say it looks like quite a number of our ranks are staying at this lovely resort?”

“Resort? Yeah,” Ramjet replied, “Lugnut's down the hall taking a glorious oil bath, whispering to himself about what a loser Megatron is and how General Strika has abandoned them. Blitzwing, you know, is in the conservatory. Galvatron and his stooge are enjoying some relaxing basket weaving.”

“Scourge,” Sunstorm said helpfully.

“And though we have not seen them,” Ramjet continued, “We hear that Megatron and Shockwave are living it up in the royal suite.”

“There are others,” Sunstorm added, “kept in the other blocks; we see them sometimes when the 'troopers so generously take us from our cell for fuel, exercise, washing, or medical inspection.”

“No one more useful or likely a viable leader than those of us here,” Vortex said, mainly to Swindle.

“So, I take it you really like it here?” Ramjet asked.

“The place practically sells itself!” Swindle replied, “three cubes a cycle, luxurious private wash facilities, and the nurses.”

At that, Vortex made a loud laugh full of cackling and static.

Swindle smiled mischievously, as if the mention of nurses reminded him of some past inside joke he had with Vortex. 

“Oh, don't tell me. I know all about it. I see the nurses all the time.” Ramjet said, somewhat annoyed.

“Ah, you see, the nurses, if you will, are what passes as Autobot interrogators. Their manner of government doesn't officially endorse torture, so they send in these medi-bots in the guise of understanding and rehabilitating the prisoners. I hope I get Doc Smokey again, he's fun to play with.”

“I suppose they don't mess with your head?” Ramjet asked.

“Exactly, Friend: your glitch, what makes you tick, all the secret fears of your spark. They will try to get it from you.”

“Are they exceptionally useful, as you put it, My Good Friend?” Sunstorm asked.

“Sometimes. Sometimes. As hostages, if nothing else.”

“Vortex,” Ramjet called, “Why so disinterested in Decepticon Leadership?”

“Oh, don't get him started,”Swindle advised.

“If the youngbots decided to see the worth in my experience, who am I to deny them?”

“Oh, it's something like that,” Ramjet snarked.

Vortex scoffed at Ramjet's attitude, but continued anyway, “I wasn't sure if I should trust you two, but any mech Swindle pretends to befriend is a pretend friend of mine.”

“Thanks so much.”

“I value all the quality time you devote to even pretending to like us.”

“Just be quiet and let Uncle Vortex learn you a few things.” he tipped his head toward cell 215, where Galvatron and his cell mate Scourge were recharging. “Delusional or not, if Galvatron says he's Emperor of all Decepticons, and no other Decepticon has killed him, he pretty much is the Emperor.”

“Then what's Megatron? The upgrade fairy?”

“No. Megatron's also the Decepticon Leader. It's an equal opportunity organization. You take what you can, and if you can keep it, then its yours. In a way, we're all the Leader of the Decepticons.”

“Oh, that totally makes sense, now!”

Vortex made a static-laced laugh again. “Let's say Swindle and I are alone and Swindle tells me he's the Decepticon leader, and for reasons on my own, I do not argue it. In that case, Swindle is the Leader of Decepticons. And then, Swindle trips on an uneven seam in the corridor and falls.”

“Because someone didn't glue down the panel properly,” Swindle interjected.

“Then I say, 'Swindle has fallen, now I'm the Leader of Decepticons.' And I kick Swindle while he's down. Then, if Swindle does get up, he can challenge me, or just acknowledge that I am the Leader. And of course I win in a fight, so I'm Leader.”

“And no one stronger walks into this corridor?” Ramjet asked skeptically.

“Exactly. If say Megatron walks in, and he claims he's the leader, then both Swindle and I can choose to challenge or submit.”

“That really covers how two can be leader at the same time,” Ramjet said irritably.

“No, it does, see? Because, outside that corridor, there could be other Decepticon Leaders. Got it? There can be a Leader of Decepticons hiding on Cybertron, and at the same time a Leader of Decepticons that holds territory at the rim or the galaxy, and a Leader of Decepticons who is wandering around looking for the AllSpark.”

“And the fact that multiple strong Leaders of the Decepticons and their most loyal followers are in an Autobot prison changes nothing?”

“Right, it changes things on the outside. So, mechs like ourselves, not really being interested in Leadership for ourselves, but wanting to understand who the contenders are, and which we'll pretend to follow for a while, are very interested. How's Swindle going to earn his livelihood with his best customers in prison?”

“Then, you really are planning on staying.”

“Ya got it, Kid,” Swindle said to Ramjet, “We're just waiting for the right opportunity and timing, and then we're busting out of this joint. If you stay cool, maybe we'll help you out. I've noticed your friend there has a special ability.”

“Oh, it is hardly worth mentioning,” Sunstorm said with thick modesty, “I have some limited ability to absorb energy and to release what I have stored as radiant energy.”

“So, you absorb enough from those bars to slip out, blast the lenses focusing our bars, and then Ramjet busts us through a few doors.”

“And you two would never leave us behind, weakened for the effort, once we get you to an exit.”

Vortex laughed his creepy laugh again.


	6. The Doctor is In

Skywarp had the creepy feeling that something was crawling on him. He moaned in pain, aware he was lying on a metallic surface, still in pain from the crash. His diagnostics were running and had detected only minor damage to the armor of his shell. All internal circuitry was functional. He was picking up a lot of blips, including Decepticon and Autobot signals. Skywarp pushed with his arms in order to right himself into a kneeling position. He could see he was in an open space, surrounded by docked space freighters.

Skywarp then noticed the small mechanism crawling along his cockpit and screamed. His mind panicked, consumed with anxiety and speculation. An alien! It was some kind of alien and it was going to latch onto his face and impregnate him with its spawn and he'd die with baby aliens busting out through his armor to feast on his remains.

“'Warp!”

Thundercracker?

He came walking into view, still wearing Cyclonus's helmet, and looked down at Skywarp. 'You are making a scene,' he commed.

“Get it off me,” Skywarp squeaked, trembling, but afraid to move. The crawly thing was near his head.

Thundercracker reached down and picked up the small mechanism between the tips of his claws. Holding it level with his optics, Thundercracker could clearly see the symbol that identified that though this mech was small and had a curious root mode, he was a Decepticon.

“I fix,” he said. “Seekers. I fix.”

Thundercracker frowned at the thing. It was puny and didn't look like it could fly. It actually looked like some larger mech's symbiotic counterpart. Thundercracker knew from accessing Starscream's memory that some mechs possessed such things. They came in varying levels of sentience and size.

'Get up, Skywarp. The puny Decepticon is not going to hurt you.'

Skywarp got to his feet, aware of the strangers gathered to watch their street drama. They were technological as well as biological, the types one might find in a space port or place of interstellar trade. Skywarp then looked up. There was a beautiful metal planet in the sky, looming large on the horizon. “Are we really here? I've never looked on it with my own optics, but I know that's Cybertron.”

“Yes,” Thundercracker said aloud, “I believe this is the second moon of the planet. We are within the trade nexus. There is free trade here, so Decepticons are not prohibited from making landing, as on Cybertron.”

Skywarp gazed at Cybertron a while longer. He knew that he had been created on Luna, but somehow this planet shining above was held in some special regard. He did not understand it himself, did not know if it was due to Starscream's memory blending with his own, or whether all their race, Autobots and Decepticons, had this feeling.

Skywarp realized Thundercracker was distant and ran to catch up to him. 'Sorry I panicked again. I am glad you are undamaged. I know you are a great warrior, but I was worried, because Strika's team had some big bots on it, and you were outnumbered.'

'You should have known I would not leave you alone and unprotected.' Thundercracker then added, aloud, “It was good work, though, making the calculations to get us here under fire and with this runt on you.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“You do not really have to call me Sir, Skywarp. That is, not unless we have many followers about. You may just use my name, like you used to.”

“Thanks, Thundercracker!”

“Now take this thing and see if he's useful. If he messes with you in any way, you may crush him.”

Skywarp caught the tiny multi-legged Decepticon in his hands. He was very small, such that he could fit inside one of Skywarp's hands. He was almost like an Insecticon; small, silvery, having eight limbs including his sharp front claws, and an odd whiskered mandible. He was also wearing little red spectacles. Maybe he was aquatic, like some kind of Cybertronian crustacean Skywarp did not know. He did have some optical components on his armor that suggested he did transform into some type of alternative mode.

“Listen, You, I'm Thundercracker's 2IC, so...”

“Icy?”

“Second-in-Command of course. Now, tell me your designation and function.”

“Scalpel. I fix.”

“Fix? Like fix devices? Tech work?”

“Fix you. Fix Seekers. Fix Decepticons.”

“Decepticons do not have medi-bots. Goes against the strongest prevail ideal of our cause. Most of us have some repair knowledge. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger, if we are fit to fight another day. A Decepticon trained in Cybertronian anatomy usually means interrogator.”

Scalpel gestured with his fore claws, seeming to disagree, with considerable frustration. “Science. Practical application. Expert. Seeker specialty.”

“Seems an awfully convenient coincidence.”

“Clone. Starscream memory? Starscream Knows.”

Skywarp searched his memory. “No.”

“Science Academy?”

“Thundercracker, do you remember a Science Academy?'

“You mean you want to know if that template installed such a memory? There is nothing before fighting alongside Megatron in the wars. That Inferior prototype cannot have sprung up fully grown, so he must not have installed all his own memories into his clones.”

“We did,” Skywarp whispered. They had been created through advanced cloning technology and come into function fully grown warriors.

Scalpel snapped his claws with irritation. “Memories missing. Starscream at Science Academy.”

“Can you knock out dents or do complex coding?” Skywarp asked, still hesitant to extend any trust to the crab-like Decepticon.

“I fix,” Scalpel said, “you open.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Skywarp said, but he opened his cockpit and pushed Scalpel inside.

Thundercracker looked back to see Skywarp lagging behind again. He waited until Skywarp reached him and then took the other mech's claws in his. Thundercracker saw Skywarp smile at the contact, then quickly turned his head to look ahead. The trade nexus was busy at all times, there were opulent boutiques of luxury goods as well as flimsy street vendor's stalls. Information, consumables and hardware were all for sale, if one had sufficient credit or trade goods.

Thundercracker was aware he and Skywarp had no funds. Stealing was beneath him, though he was not at all opposed to taking trophies after an honorable battle. He wondered if they had any fighting arena or organized speculation on competitions.

“Skywarp!” a stranger called out. Thundercracker swung Skywarp behind him as he turned toward the voice. There was a seeker there, with a suspiciously familiar face, though Thundercracker did not recognize his blue and gold colors. “And Thundercracker. My Brothers!”

Thundercracker shoved at the other as he tried to embrace them. “Get your claws off me, you malfunction! I do not even know you.”

“I'm Dirge,” Dirge said. He saw Skywarp peering at him from behind Thundercracker's wing. “I'm like you, but me of course. We hoped to see you, but we did not know.”

“Is Starscream with you?” Skywarp asked quietly.

“He's dead.” 

“What do you mean he's dead?” Thundercracker demanded, “he had a shard of the AllSpark!”

“Perhaps Slipstream can explain,” Dirge mused.

“Yes. She better. Show us to her now.”

'Maybe it's true,' Skywarp commed to Thundercracker, 'I heard Cyclonus say they hear such a rumor. But Slipstream is here. It's good she survived, isn't it?' 

'Maybe, just stay close.'

Skywarp gave Thundercracker's hand a squeeze. Their wings touched lightly as they walked after Dirge.

Dirge led the way to the rented room he had acquired with sales of a few Earth souvenirs. He commed Slipstream as he approached the door, letting her know they had company.

It was an effort for the Seekers to get into the room; they had to manuever carefully to get their wings and heads inside. They found Slipstream seated atop a stasis pod, a small device blowing air across her wings. “Look who decided to join the party.”

“Enough of your nagging and banter,” Thundercracker said sharply. “Is it true? Is Starscream dead?”

“Yes. The shard was removed. It was the Autobots.”

“Then that definitely makes me leader!”

Slipstream stood, but hitting her wingtips on the ceiling growled and sat back down. “That's it, then?” She asked, anger replaced by something like disappointment, “you think that you can just take his place?”

“I do not want his place! I will exceed that inferior template. And now he's gone, there's no question I should lead. You cannot think you are better suited than I?” Thundercracker became annoyed with stooping, clawed at the ceiling and then sat down on the floor.

Dirge raised his weapon at Thundercracker, and Skywarp then pointed his own at Dirge. “You going to reimburse me for my security deposit on my room?” Dirge asked, tipping his head toward the claw marks on the ceiling.

“The place is improved for my having stayed here,” Thundercracker said haughtily.

“You seriously want to do this, Thundercracker?” Slipstream asked, “You want to take this outside? See if I'm not better suited to leadership, as you say.”

“And you seriously mean to challenge me?”

Slipstream did not really want to fight. Thundercracker had to know that as strong a frontline fighter as he was, she was the superior tactician. Then, she thought, Thundercracker's ego probably did not allow him to see it. “Lower your weapon, Dirge, we will figure something out later about your deposit.”

Thundercracker gave a nod. So, that was how it was. He knew Slipstream enough to correctly guess she'd back down from a fight if there was a means to avoid it. She was a skilled tactician, and that could mean everything she did was part of a plan to trap him into making a mistake. But, she was going to demonstrate her equal standing, even without fighting. He did have Skywarp, but she clearly had Dirge under her control in some fashion. Thundercracker made a gesture, and understanding, Skywarp lowered his null ray.

Skywarp prodded the furnishing that looked like some sort of alien rest place. Maybe a nest. He leaned his weight into it tentatively and sank into the layers of bedding.

“You can be 3IC, that means third-in-command.”

Slipstream laughed at the offer. “Are you serious? Do you mean you made Skywarp your second? Skywarp?”

“Your lack of faith in him shows how little you understand. Tell them, Skywarp.”

Skywarp tried to roll, but his wings did not cooperate with the soft bedding. Instead he sat straight up and then wriggled in order to turn to face the others. “I've matured a lot since you last saw me,” Skywarp said, “Thundercracker helped me so much. I do still have panic attacked, occasionally, but I am not afraid of everything. I don't stammer all the time. I've even been in battle. I helped take down Cyclonus. And I can transwarp and control the space bridges.”

“That explains it. Transwarp navigation. I didn't expect giga-ego to take you under his wing out of some kind of selfless brotherly love.”

“That's not true,” Skywarp said meekly. He looked to Thundercracker.

“Why do the two of you use those human loan words? 'Brother.' 'Sister.' It implies some fleshling biological connection.”

“It means kin in shell and shard. We are kin, you and Skywarp, as well.”

“I know what it means, you glitch, I just said as much,” Thundercracker insisted, “I Understand the symbolic implication as well. 'Blood is thicker than water' they said. This means that there is some inherent, intangible, theoretical bond between family members that is thicker and stronger than any other bonds later made by choice.”

“Exactly,” Slipstream said, “it means 'family first'. It means, that even being Decepticons and clones of Him, if we back-stab each other, we only weaken our own, rather we should collectively be back-stabbing someone else, together.”

“Thundercracker?” Skywarp whined.

“You should not still be concerned about that! She just said it to put doubt between us. Was I not the very one who told you how it was your own strength, yours, and...you know.” Thundercracker turned on Slipstream again, before she could question what Thundercracker had told Skywarp. “And that suggestion wasn't backstabbing? Of all the dishonorable, hypocritical- !

“I accept.”

Thundercracker shook his head. “Accept?” 

“You offered me 3IC. I accept. I advise you to invite Dirge on board as Science Officer and Acquisitions officer. And, I get to be Air Commander, Skywarp is not better suited to that, even if he's 2IC. I get to be Informations Officer, as well as air Commander, and 3IC, and I'll acknowledge your Leadership.”

“You just changed your mind?”

“Yes. I can do that.”

“Why?”

“Let's just say I developed faith that you have what it takes to be a good leader.”

Thundercracker scoffed. “What is that? Strength? Honor? Battle prowess?”

“Some small consideration for your subordinates. Skywarp is not the only one who has matured.”

“I'm happy,” Skywarp said, “Now we can all share information and talk to each other, and take turns on watch. Well, I'm not sure about the new one.”

“Dirge is all right,” Slipstream assured them, “Greedy, but he's managed to focus his urges constructively in acquiring supplies and service, as well as in working on research projects to further his desire to have all the answers to the universe and everything. Dirge, give them the new dampeners.”

“Am I officially invited. I want an invitation. I want a position.”

“My Brother is still young, so he needs attention,” Slipstream said, mainly for Thundercracker's benefit.

“For Spark's sake. Yes. Very well. Dirge, welcome aboard. I appoint you Science officer and secondarily Acquisitions Officer. Good work on acquiring these accommodations. Be informed that if you disappoint me, I will find a suitable punishment. The same goes for you, Slipstream. I am not just going to beat you and shoot at you like some leaders. I will find a means of punishment especially for each of you.” 

“Sir,” Slipstream said, not really liking the word, but sincere in her intention to allow Thundercracker to lead. “We have information on the whereabouts of Ramjet and Sunstorm.”

“Yes, we also acquired similar intel. In Autobot custody on Cybertron.”

“Yes. We were going to attempt a rescue. Do you have any such plans?”

“It was already my intention to do the same,” Thundercracker explained, “but as we only arrived in the trade nexus recently, we have not yet gained further intel or worked out an actual plan of attack.”

“Now, we can work on a plan, together.”

“I admit, the addition of two more team members allows for more varied deployment and battle formations. And I suppose another tactician cannot hurt. And, maybe the new one will develop something useful to our plans.”

“I concur.”

Thundercracker nodded. Maybe this familial cooperation was advantageous after all. “But first, I decree some recharge is in order.”

“Fuel, too?”

“You have some?”

Slipstream nodded. “Not much, but you and Skywarp are welcome to what is left.”

Thundercracker commed Skywarp privately and saw that his 2IC got up to requisition the fuel from Dirge. He came across the room and knelt before Thundercracker. “Look what they had,” Skywarp said, “high temp synthetic engine oil, coolant, jet fuel, and this.” He held a single energon cube cupped in his hands, offering it.

Their Earth-style alt-modes allowed them to process the various liquids, but all Cybertronians thrived on energon; a little would go a long way. “You take it.”

“Really, but-?”

“I will need to rely on your abilities to rescue our kin. I will drink these.” Thundercracker took the oil and jet fuel. He drank down the oil and then chased it with jet fuel. His systems pumped the liquids where they were needed.

Skywarp drained half the cube, and then tucked the remained inside his cockpit, for Scalpel to find. He could sense that Scalpel was somewhere in his left leg, but he was not scared, not really. It felt like Scalpel was making improvements. “Here,” he said to Thundercracker, “We'll pull rank and take the nest.”

Slipstream was still online, though she reclined atop the stasis pod. She reached to her fan and switched the control from locked to oscillate. It seemed fair to share its benefit with Skywarp and Thundercracker. Dirge stretched out on the other side of the room, near the door, so he would be alert to any intruders. Thundercracker fell onto the strangely soft resting place and immediately shuttered his optics and fell into recharge.


	7. Hello, Nurse!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A LOT of artistic license taken with the character of Red Alert, as she had little canon at the time.

Red Alert's optics fell on the name painted on the door of the Warden's office: Clamp Down. She took in air through the intake below her neck column, then exhaled cool compressed air from her mouth; it was part of her personal relaxation routine. She had been considered high-strung since she had been protoformed, but had learned to control her rasher impulses with meditation techniques in order to excel in her studies and military training. She was so good at these techniques, that those who met her later in life actually considered her dispassionate.

Red Alert tapped on the door once and then opened it. Inside, Clamp Down sat behind his desk, while a red and blue mech lounged on a bench along the wall opposite. “Red Alert reporting for duty, Sir.” She moved toward the desk and lay down a data crystal containing her transfer orders.

“I am certain everything is in order,” Clamp Down said, smiling. “I understand you were given a temporary transfer to the prison.”

“Yes, Sir, my security team was recalled to Cybertron from our previous post in the colonies. I expect to be redeployed in the future.”

“Considering your background and skills, you should do well here. We don't want any accusations of nepotism, so I am going to have you work under Smokescreen here. He will be responsible for your performance review.”

“Yes, Sir.” Red Alert turned to the red and blue mech. “A pleasure to meet you, Sir.”

“Just call me Smokescreen.”

Red Alert nodded. Smokescreen was a door-winged racing model. Red Alert came from a long line of Autobot sports and racing models, though she was not herself one. No Nepotism? Sure. Smokescreen was probably a friend of one of her creators.

“I heard from Deep Cover recently,” Clamp Down said, as if casually. “He could not say much, you know, but he said he was safe and not to worry.”

“Yes. I know, Sir. I am subscribed to his status updates. Will that be all, Sir?” 

Clamp Down frowned and looked displeased that Red Alert was not more familiar, but she did not really know what he expected. She was here in an official capacity, not some social visit. He was not to be considered kin, but the Warden.

“Yes, dismissed. Smokescreen will show you to your duties.”

Red Alert walked with Smokescreen from the Warden's office. “I knew Tracks,” he said, “I mean, I used to work with him.”

“I would prefer not to discuss personal matters while on duty.”

Smokescreen laughed. “Touchy, huh? I was just going to say you take after him, in looks.”

“He would disagree. I do not wish to talk about it further.” Then, Red Alert asked, “If I may, Sir? What is your background and position here?”

“Oh, I'm something of a profiler. I look for tells. Get to know a 'bot, tell what he's thinking. I use that to make an assessment. I work mainly with the prisoners that are said to be glitched, to see if they are competent to stand trial and fully aware of what they have done. For the most part, with these Decepticons, you'll see delusions of grandeur or maybe some kind of battle fatigue, but overall they are well aware what they have done.”

“Am I to work with these prisoners, Sir.”

“Smokescreen, I told you.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Smokescreen shrugged. “You'll do shifts in the prison med-bay. You haven't worked in a prison before?”

“No, Sir, but I am prepared. I can take care of myself, and I've seen all manner of damage and depravity in the course of my medi-bot internship and security work.”

“I'm sure you'll do fine” He did not sound as if he believed this, but Red Alert did not care. “Sometimes the prisoners come in with some ailment – scraplets, rust, barnacles – but more often than not you'll treat damage inflicted by other prisoners, or sometimes, self-inflicted wounds.”

“I understand.”

“But I would also like you to help me with assessing some of the prisoners. I understand you have some special training regarding Seekers?”

“Seeker-builds are rare these days. We do not have Starscream, do we, Sir? I would prefer not to deal with him.”

“Why is that?”

“It involves a classified project, so I cannot give you details, but I will say that he would not wish to cooperate with me.”

“Well, our Elite Guard sources say that they have it on good authority that Starscream is deactivated. The prisoners I speak of, so Sentinal Magnus informs us, are clones. Of course the Science Council wishes to learn the truth of this, and possibly how it was done. You have worked for the Science Council before?”

“Yes.” Classified work.

“Excellent, then I will leave the two Seekers to your study. When you are ready, I will collect some autotroopers as escort and walk you to their cell.”

Ramjet was, again, leaning against the wall of his cell, close to the bars, when Red alert came to collect him. Sunstorm was recharging. He was doing that a lot. Ramjet didn't like being confined, either, but he could see it was affecting Sunstorm badly. It didn't help matters that they were surrounded by crazy glitches. The little fleshy cried for its mama every waking minute. Whenever Galvatron was awake he was damaging himself on the force bars and demanding to be let out. Kranix would just not stop preaching about the coming of Unicron and some rubbish about trans-dimensional travel and the pit. Swindle and Vortex were often huddled in the corner of their cell giggling and cackling. Lugnut was still talking about how glorious Megatron was. Blitzwing could still be heard singing.

“Hello, Nurse!” Vortex called.

Red Alert ignored the twirly bird.

“She reminds me of First Aid,” Swindle hissed, “Remember him?”

“We took him for a nice little ride,” Vortex cackled.

“You are designated Ramjet? You will come with me,” Red Alert said somberly, in Decepticon, still ignoring the occupants of cell 217.

“He's Ramjet,” Ramjet lied, tipping his head to Sunstorm.

“Of course he is, but since he's in recharge, I'll settle for you.” 

“Not fluent in Decepticon, huh?”

“Correct,” Red Alert stated.

Ramjet did not know what to make of that. Correct she was actually not fluent? Or correct she knew he was lying and was actually fluent?

“Arms forward. You will be placed in Stasis cuffs.”

Ramjet held his arms out as the bars were temporarily deactivated. One of the 'troopers but the cuffs on him, but then Red Alert tapped at the cuffs. She said something in Autobot that Ramjet did not understand, “I need him to have some mobility to conduct my examination.” She then turned to Ramjet and spoke in Decepticon again, “If you try to make sudden moves, the cuffs will force you into full stasis. Understand?”

“Try to make sudden moves. Got it.”

“This way.”

Ramjet moved slowly. Smokescreen was near Swindle's cell, but looking toward Red Alert for the moment. Vortex tossed something through the bars, it hit Ramjet's cockpit, rebounded down onto the cuffs, and finally slid down into his claws. It felt like a small bit of cloth, and Ramjet kept it hidden as he passed the red and blue mech.

Ramjet looked up and watched Red Alert walk before him. There was something cute about her, he thought. Then, questioning himself, he decided he really was glitched, or had just been in prison too long if he was thinking Autobot scientists about to dissect him cute. They probably were going to perform some terrible experiment on him, not that he was paranoid like Skywarp.

Carefully Ramjet unfolded the scrap of cloth. It looked like it was torn from one of the polishing cloths found in the communal wash area. Some characters were scrawled on it with a bit of oil: My shoulders hurt. 

Ramjet had no idea what Vortex meant with the note, but he thought it best to be rid of it. He dropped the cloth as he walked, and as he stepped over it, fired his starboard thruster. The effect was two-fold: the cloth was burned to ash, and the stasis cuffs activated full lock-down mode. Ramjet crashed to the floor.

Red Alert turned at the sound of the crash. “No sudden moves, I said.”

“No need to try to get parts working to get the grit and dust out, what with all the time they let flight-models into the yard.”

Red Alert crouched and tapped at the cuffs again. “Come on now, I'll check your parts.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” Ramjet said without thinking. Then, he realized what he had said. He wanted the Autobot to check all his parts? He managed to get up on his feet again and walk after Red Alert. “By the way, thanks for telling me your name.”

Red Alert turned. “My name is Red Alert. I am a registered medi-bot as well as a member of the security forces. Right now, my standing orders are to see to your state of wellbeing.” She paused and then added, “If you are good, Ramjet, I will see if I can get you and your kin some time in the yard. I am sure it is difficult being in captivity, not able to go fast, or feel lift under your wings.”

“Well, don't expect me to appreciate it, Autobot.”

“I wouldn't, but you are welcome in any case.”

The walked through the corridors until they reached the med-bay. There were some other prisoners being treated, under the watch of pink nurse-bots and black and white autotroopers. “We'll use Exam 3,” Red alert instructed.

“Not my lucky number, but I'll take it.” Ramjet walked over to the marked door way, then cautiously entered the room. “I know what to do, I just don't feel like doing it yet.”

“Haven't you had a medical exam before? Just sit up there on the exam table. Relax. Try this: intake air, hold it, then exhale.” Red alert performed the breathing exercise as demonstration.

Ramjet sat on the table. The rooms were scaled to accommodate large Decepticon prisoners, but the furnishings and equipment were all low enough to be accessible to Autobots. Ramjet's feet could solidly touch the floor while he was seated. He watched Red Alert breathe and gave the exercise a try. He sucked in air through the vents on his chest, held it a beat, and then exhaled.

Red Alert approached the table, and Ramjet flinched.

“I am not going to hurt you,” Red Alert said. “If were were on a battlefield, if you were endangering Cybertron or the Colonies, then I would fight you, but here it is my duty to see that you are well.”

“I suppose you have no interest in disassembling me to see how everything works.”

“Correct.”

Ramjet was puzzled again.

Red Alert smiled. “I already know how everything works. Now, I will attached a diagnostic cable.” She moved around behind Ramjet. He could feel her slender, round Autobot digits just grazing the atmosphere of his wings.

“Well this situation is entirely comfortable.”

“Good.”

“Oh, nice bedside manner.”

“Thanks. My teammates usually look like they want a second opinion, but that is probably because they are such a reckless bunch that their injuries always require radical treatment.”

Ramjet felt fingers on his neck, uncapping an unused port. He felt a shock as it opened, like electricity had just arced between them.

“Oh, sorry. That hurt a little, didn't it?”

“Just short out my port with a surge! And while you are at it, prescribe some radical treatments, because that sounds comforting to the mech locked in Stasis cuffs!”

Red alert connected the diagnostic cable to the port in Ramjet's neck. She checked the attached monitor. Everything was working. “I will check on those parts now.”

“Oh please do!”

“Glad to see you finally so cooperative.” Red Alert was smiling, again, as she walked back into Ramjet's field of vision. She looked amused, he thought. She was also holding some medical instruments.

“Glad to amuse you so much.”

“I think you actually are,” Red Alert said. She was amused, she thought. Ramjet did not know, but he was the first Seeker she had seen in a very long time, and the very first one she'd been able to touch. She had seen Seeker programming code, she had learned of their anatomy from instructional programs, and she had even learned a few words of their jargon, but never been so close. It was amazing, she thought, Ramjet, and by extension others of his build, really were made for flight.

Red Alert came to the port to which one of Ramjet's null rays was usually attached. She blew air into the port to clear it of dust. Ramjet winced at the blast of cold air.

“I am equipped with an air compressor,” Red Alert explained, “It's very useful for getting grit and dirt out of joints and seams.”

“Not i/o ports. No.”

“Ports too.”

“My shoulders hurt.”

“What did you say?”

“I mean, my shoulders don't hurt at all. I don't need any medical attention.”

“I wonder which was the lie,” Red Alert said, gazing at Ramjet with suspicion, trying to decide how much he actually knew.

Ramjet did not like her narrow blue eyes, but he liked the red coloration of her faceplate. Seriously? He asked himself. Really? Practically the first femme I meet? An Autobot? She's the one? His answer was the queue of protocols in his processor, which he hadn't even been aware of having. Whether wanted or conscious or not, his body was reacting. Initiate courtship, yes or no? Signal intention, yes or no? 

Red Alert pushed a step stool toward the back of the exam table then stepped up so she could comfortably reach Ramjet's shoulders. Hot Shot was always complaining that his shoulders hurt. Red Alert was recently convinced that Hot Shot tried to get injured just so he could come to her for attention. She wasn't interested in Hot Shot.

“I see the problem,” Red Alert said. “To accommodate your Earth-style alt-mode your transformation sequence leaves a fairly wide seam here between your wings and neck.” She dug her digits into the cables and tubes running beneath the seam. “It's a bit of a weak spot when you are in root mode. You have some kinks in here.”

Red Alert heard a repetitive thumping, and looking up realized one of Ramjet's legs was shaking, his foot thumping against the floor. She looked down into the seam; she did not think she had touched anything connected to his lower limbs. As Red Alert straightened the kinked cable between her digits, Ramjet suddenly seized, lurched forward, then crashed to the floor. The monitor behind beeped angrily at being unplugged from the patient. Red Alert had been leaning into Ramjet, and now lost her balance and toppled onto the exam table. 

“What did I tell you about sudden movements?” Red Alert asked as she slipped from the table. She bent to Ramjet, in stasis again, and again lowered the restrictions on his cuffs. She checked his vitals then. Optics were online, but perhaps a bit bright. His engine was running and his body hot to the touch.

“Don't touch me!” Ramjet shouted.

Red Alert held him down, for his own safety. “Does that mean you require touch? Or that you do not require it?”

“I can't do this,” Ramjet said. Read Alert was alarmed. There was no bite in Ramjet's tone. In contrast, he sounded hurt, even pleading.

“Breathe with me,” Read Alert instructed. “Tell me where you are and what your name is.”

Ramjet tried to breathe, but his vents hitched. “Red Alert. Red. You hear how it sounds?”

“Yes, Ramjet. It sounds nice. I do not recall you using my name before. Do you know where you are?”

“I can't. Red. I'm not a cool mech. I'm not experienced. I don't have the memories. There are all these protocols active, but...”

“Ramjet, cut your engine. You'll overheat idling here like this.”

“I don't like your eyes much, but I really love your face. You have really pretty colors. I can see you have a nice frame, it's just so well proportioned, but it's making me crazy all these bits of emergency truck.” Red Alert shook her head. Ramjet was attracted to her? And he said truck like it was some filthy curse. He couldn't really know. “I just know you were built to be fast. Maybe you're not a flier, but...I just want to bite you and tear you up, but in a really good way. But I know you have these ethics, and I'm your patient, and you wouldn't respect me later if...I wouldn't even respect me. Stupid Autobot. Just kill me or knock me out already.”

She already had the nano-agents prepared. Red alert jabbed the sharp end of the syringe into an unarmored portion of Ramjet's arm, then depressed the plunger. Ramjet was out in astroseconds. Better than a black beam gun, she thought, and blew cold air across the tip of the used syringe.


	8. Free Rein

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to acknowledge the members of the tf bunny farm community on livejournal for their many Seeker-related plot bunnies and fics, especially over the past few months. I thank them, collectively, for their inspiration. I would also like to acknowledge the lj user ishimura for thought-provoking bunnies and replies in the comments, which provided food for thought as I was developing characterizations for the Seeker clones in this fic. Thanks.

Skywarp adjusted a gun on his arm mount. He had already checked both weapons, but the prospect of possibly facing battle, if their stealthy plan did not go well, fueled his need to re-check, just in case. Besides, Dirge had been jumping on him wanting things, and he might have knocked the null rays loose.

“Did you get that, Skywarp?” Slipstream asked.

“Yes: I'm Aster-2, I'm on Thundercracker's right wing. Why don't we just use our names?”

“We use the call signs against the slight chance our signals are intercepted.”

“I thought we were radio silent.” Dirge said.

“That's why I said to flash with your site-to-site laser comms.” Slipstream wondered how He had ever tolerated tolerated being Air Commander, especially with crazy mechs like Blitzwing and Lugnut. They were questioning everything! 

“Doesn't the Air Commander usually fly the forward position?” Thundercracker asked, not really content that Slipstream was in charge. All they had to do was fly to the planet. They did not need a complicated plan.

“But then I would not have you to cut the wind for me,” Slipstream said with false sweetness, “and, if we do have to take things to the ground, you are our strongest front-line fighter.”

“I am strong,” Thundercracker agreed.

Thundercracker was probably going to make her regret assigning him the forward position, probably fly off path or into surface fire, but Slipstream didn't like to waste energy flying lead.

“Dirge, where's Scalpel?” Skywarp demanded.

“You wouldn't let me keep him. I gave him back.”

“No you didn't!”

“I think he's under my wings somewhere,” Slipstream groaned. “The louse!” She shimmied to shake the tiny Decepticon out of her body, then squealed as she felt Scalpel crawling. “Off the nosecone! Get out!” she shrieked. 

Scalpel climbed up from the seam behind Slipstream's neck. He was decided on staying with the young Seeker clones, but they did not treat him with the respect he deserved.

“Just ride with me, when we fly,” Skywarp said. He cupped his hands for Scalpel to step from Slipstream's shoulder. “He's not some pest,” Skywarp said, “He fixed my coding problem and dents and everything.” He carried Scalpel away, Slipstream shuddering squeamishly behind them. “I really am sorry I was so scared when we met,” Skywarp whispered.

Scalpel put one claw to his chest and made a bow. “Accept apology.”

“Ready,” Skywarp chirped as he tucked Scalpel inside his cockpit.

“Transform and rise up,” Slipstream ordered. The take-off was flawless. The four transformed and took formation with synchronized precision.

Thundercracker flashed a message to Skywarp, on his starboard side, 'Is it not down? Toward the larger g-well?'

The message, in Decepticon style Cybertronian characters, scrolled across the display within Skywarp's cockpit, where Scalpel was huddled in the fold of the human-sized pilot's seat. The read-outs had all been in English, but Scalpel had switched-over the interface. 'Do not wish to disagree, TC,' Skywarp flashed, 'space-time is need-to-know for me. Rough sketch: we go up, apex, then down.'

The plan called for stealth, and though he was not the proponent of brute force some Decepticon leaders were, Thundercracker did like facing things head on. Speed, of course. Guile, yes. Stealth, not so much. Much as he disliked the plan, he had agreed Slipstream could be Air Commander, and he did see some worth in cooperation and in the recently grown team. A leader such as himself should have multiple followers. Thundercracker kept to Slipstream's proposed flight path magnificently. 

The plan called for all four to be equipped with every stealth, dampening and jamming devices they could devise or purchase in the time allowed. Then, they were to make the trip during the time in which Autobot traders would be traveling to Cybertron, thus allowing them to blend in with other blips, should they be detected at all, while at the outer limits of Autobot sensor range. From there, they were to veer away from the spaceport, and make a fast decent, nearly to sea level. Skimming across the Rust Sea, below the range of sensors and surface missiles, they would make land on the northern beach and then continue north to Iacon.

That, plus a number of contingency plans, should they be under attack, ended Slipstream's leadership responsibility. Thundercracker had to decide what to do when they got there.

Thundercracker knew that the Seekers were not only elite air warriors, they were often Decepticon advance scouts sent to a planet or city thereon, which the Decepticons wished to conquer. This was due to the their particular skill set enabling them to get in, analyze surroundings, act, and get back out very quickly. Other than incomparable flight ability, they were possessed of smaller, lighter frames, compared to most other Decepticons; the quick-thinking and reflexes that served them in air battle also allowed them to quickly analyze and improvise actions on the ground; and special abilities were commonly developed by their kind. They were just elite.

It was also to their advantage that Autobot security was a little lax. Overall the ruling parties on Cybertron had become complacent since the great wars of the past. Even many of their soldiers had never encountered a Decepticon. They had plenty of automated defenses, but seemed to lack the ability to out think their opponents. Dirge had found a very detailed map file of Iacon for sale from a street vendor in the trade nexus, which not only pointed out the historical and government buildings any tourist would wish to see, but where entrances were located, and what hardly used ancient structures were located beneath.

They also had a tremendous amount of information loose on their data nets. News video gave clear pictures of the entrances to government buildings and the faces of those Autobots who worked within.

They were not prepared for a small team of stealthed Seekers to fly into their capital below sensors and missile batteries.

The met zero resistance flying low over the red-brown expanse of the Rust Sea about the city of Hydrax. Continuing north, they flew over large industrial tracts, including energon farms. They increased speed over residential craftsmech communes outlying the city, to avoid their images being clearly captured. Upon reaching the city limits, they descended quickly, transforming as they did so, to immediately take what cover they could find.

One thing Cybertron had abundance, especially under Autobot rule, was wide, clear, flat surface roadways. The Seekers could see that the construction of the roadways, and much other construction, was supported by framework of beams and trusses that anchored to the highest stable layer beneath. The planet being largely artificial construction, the surface layer was built upon millions of years of previous construction. When war, age or catastrophe damaged an area, what was salvageable was salvaged and the rest, depending on its state, was variously torn out for smelting, compressed, or left to support future construction. The result of this was that navigation on cybertron had not only cardinal directions on x and y coordinates, but levels of depth on the z axis.

The Seeker clones, being created for flight, did not naturally take well to the depths, but they were not incapable of traversing them. Thus, they took cover in whatever shadowy nooks and crannies they found within sight of the sky above.

Thundercracker commed to Slipstream, '3, we are going to have to use comms when out of line-of-sight. Use sparingly. 2 is in my sight. Do you have 4?'

'Negative on sight, but position known.'

Thundercracker knew already that Skywarp did not have Dirge in sight. He opened the channel to Dirge. '4, comms authorized when out of line-of-sight. 2 and 3 will move out first. Follow, when they signal clear. Keep them in sight if possible. I will guard rear.'

'Understood.'

Thundercracker told Skywarp the plan in combination of flash text and gesture, then commed Slipstream to relay the order, '3, 2 is coming to you. Switch-off on point and cover and scout ahead. Signal 4 when clear to follow. I am in rear.'

'Car!' Slipstream commed.

Skywarp signaled that he wanted to warp over to Slipstream, but Thundercracker held up a hand to stop him. 'Save energy.' he flashed.

Skywarp's facial expression and posture spoke his dissatisfaction at being protected, when he was willing to be brave, rather than cowardly.

'Right now: order. Discuss later.' Thundercracker and Skywarp both went still and silent as the car, very likely an Autobot passed by their position.

'2, clear,' Slipstream commed; she had a view of the wide boulevard in both directions.

Skywarp gave a glance to Thundercracker and then climbed up from the hollow they were sheltered in. He looked quickly to his sides and then ran across the street. Slipstream had chosen a high vantage point, in the truss-work supporting a nearby ramp, leading to another roadway. She dropped down, using thrusters to ease her landing and joined Skywarp.

Slipstream pointed a claw toward the southwestern quadrant of the city, which bordered their side of the boulevard. Skywarp signaled that he would go first.

Slipstream smiled. 'Sure?' she flashed, 'you brave enough for this?'

Skywarp moved to the outer wall of a nearby building. He then looked back to Slipstream. 'You got my 180?'

'Affirmative.' Slipstream moved to Skywarp's position, as he watched behind her. It looked clear, and she did not hear any footsteps or motors other than the sounds of their own bodies. '4, clear. At your back. East wall of gold-colored building.'

Skywarp and Slipstream waited, watching for Dirge, or Autobots. Slipstream spotted a sheltered doorway, to the north, across the smaller road. She pointed it out to Skywarp as their next cover.

Dirge approached, flashing, 'They are all gold!'

'TC?' Skywarp flashed.

Slipstream nudged Skywarp for forgetting to use call signs.

Skywarp doubted flash text could be intercepted, as it depended on on flashes of laser light transmitted along direct line-of-sight.

'My Leader: on the way,' Dirge flashed back.

Slipstream, seeing Dirge approach, made for their next point of cover. She darted into the recessed doorway, and quickly signaled Skywarp to stay, as she caught two Autobots on her sensors. They came from the building Skywarp and Dirge were near: a green one and an orange one. Slipstream remained still, hoping her dampeners were working to hide the fact that she normally had a distinct Decepticon energy signature.

The two Autobots transformed into trucks of some sort and drove west. Slipstream signaled to Skywarp again, in flash and gesture, to tell him to come to her position. Skywarp gave a look around the corner of the building, and then east, before he ran across the road.

They proceeded in similar fashion; one covering the other's advance and then switching off, with Dirge and Thundercracker following when an area was suitably clear. At one point, along a 4-way intersection, Skywarp was obliged to shoot two Autobots in the back with his null rays, in order for them to get by. Along another street, in what looked like a business district that was once more lively, Slipstream was almost discovered in an alley beside a used mod shop, but managed to distract the storekeeper from dumping his refuse with a holomatter avatar of a naked human. The autobot ran screaming about the infestation of organic pests.

'Why was your doll without the flimsy human armor?' Skywarp flashed as he joined Slipstream.

'Not a doll! Holomatter extension of facsimile pilot program. I was not done editing her.'

'I edited my doll, too!' Skywarp flashed, 'I named him Stormshadow.'

Slipstream shook her head. She was certain Stormshadow was highly atypical of human names, though it did sound like a suitable name for a Cybertronian. Now he was not cowering all the time, it was apparent Skywarp had a quirky aesthetic and sense of humor. He liked puzzle games, cute things, and Thundercracker. Slipstream vented heated air more out of resignation than need for temperature regulation. 'Need to move before 'Bots come for pests.'

Scalpel skittered about Skywarp's control panel, within his cockpit. He had not seen a full-size rendering of a Human before. He had only seen the cropped two-dimensional images within Thundercracker and Skywarp's cockpits. They looked like blandly-colored soft-shells to him, but he would not mind examining one. 

'Prison is close,' Skywarp flashed, 'need to find a vantage point.'

'Development more sparse. Buildings there?' Slipstream pointed out a couple of taller buildings in the area, west-southwest of their current position.

Skywarp confirmed, then signaled Dirge to hold position a while longer. They needed to abandon this alley, where the Autobot had almost caught Slipstream.

Slipstream ran for a new location, and reaching the shadow cast by nearby store signage, in the streetlight, motioned for Skywarp to advance. Skywarp quickly commed Dirge and Thundercracker, telling them to bypass the alleyway and proceed along the line of buildings to their next position. A motorcycle autobot passed by, but all four seeker clones were able to press into the shadows of the warehouses and closed storefronts and avoid detection.

'Find entry into a building. We need a room with a view,' Thundercracker commed.

Skywarp motioned to Slipstream, letting her know he would move and check the doors. He looked up and down the street and then slunk from the shadow and sidestepped to the doorway. There was a transparent panel in the metal door, and he could see no one immediately within. Skywarp gave a look to the door's surround, for any obvious signs of alarm systems. He saw none. He thought he could probably warp to the other side. Skywarp tried the door. It gave way freely, without any sign of tripping a security system.

Slipstream reached the door, and saw Skywarp just inside. He looked back and flashed to her. 'some autobot signals above, weak, maybe on upper floors, in recharge, or interference from metal structure.'

'Use caution. I am close behind.'

Slipstream beckoned for Dirge and Thundercracker with a gesture and then followed Skywarp inside. There was a stairwell leading upwards. There was a lift mechanism, but the entry gate was posted with a sign bearing Cybertronian characters and icons, which Slipstream gathered meant the lift was out of service. The walls and floor all had signs of wear, so she supposed it was older surface construction. The well-to-do Autobots likely did not want to keep residence near the prison. Still, compared to the Decepticon standard of living on so many battleships and military outposts, even this seemed luxurious.

Skywarp started up the stairs, turning only briefly to see that Slipstream followed. He kept his right arm extended, so as to be ready to fire, if he met an Autobot. Skywarp reached the first landing, and then the second floor corridor without any sign of Autobots. He was still getting signals, but it seemed the particular structure was causing some interference. He worried it might effect their comms; Thundercracker would be out of reach.

Slipstream caught up with Skywarp on the second floor. 'I'll go first this time.' She saw Skywarp signal an affirmative and climbed slowly up the next flight of stairs. She found her sensor readings difficult to interpret, weak and inconsistent. She suspected that something in the construction of the building was causing sensor reflection, which would meant the Autobots may or may not be where her sensors indicated. 

At the third floor, Slipstream flashed to Skywarp. 'Use caution. Definite signal interference.'

Skywarp confirmed and started up the next flight of stairs. He was about to stop and ask Scalpel if he could do anything to clear up the sensor readings, when he was surprised by the Autobot turning onto the landing from the flight above.

Skywarp panicked. Scalpel, in the cockpit, scanned the Autobot with his spectacles. “You can take. He is weak,” He told Skywarp, as he viewed the technical specifications through the red-tinted lenses.

The Autobot said something in his own dialect that Skywarp did not understand.

“Skywarp!” Scalpel trilled, “Kill Autobot. He has seen.”

Skywarp fired, and though he was sure he had hit the Autobot, and saw him fall, he knew he was not dead.

Slipstream rushed up the flight behind at the sound of a shot being fired and found Skywarp trembling over the stunned Autobot. She said nothing, but commed Thundercracker privately, “1, you copy? Get up to the fourth floor, now.'

Thundercracker left the front entrance, where he had been watching for any Autobots attempting entry, and started up the stairs. 'Status?'

'2 stunned a 'Bot.'

When Thundercracker got up the stairs, Dirge was making a poor attempt to watch the stairs on which Thundercracker came from the third floor. Dirge was mainly looking at the fallen Autobot.

Thundercracker could see that Skywarp was in a panic state, and that Slipstream was slightly higher on the stairs, doing a decent job of covering the fourth floor corridor.

'Skywarp,' Thundercracker commed.

Skywarp vocalized aloud, though it was a low whimper, “I-I am s-sorry, Sir. Scalpel said...b-but I just couldn't.”

They were unbelievably lucky that no one else had discovered them yet. “Do you intend to finish him yourself?” He asked Skywarp, no longer caring about the noise.

“I can't.”

“Death comes to us all,” Dirge said, deciding that the right was his to speak, as much as Thundercracker's or Skywarp's.

Skywarp looked down at the Autobot. He had white and blue coloring. He did not even have weapons, just some drills. He had been carrying a box, which had opened when he fell. There were some tools and a can of oil. It looked like he was just going out to do some work. Everything just looked and felt wrong to Skywarp. The Autobot had not attacked. They were not on an active battlefield. There was no evidence he was a spy, or a soldier. His face had looked so horribly twisted in the instant the null ray struck.

'We cannot just stay here!' Slipstream commed to Thundercracker.

“Dirge, do you want the Autobot's life?”

“Leave it to me. I'll take his life.”

“Do as you wish, but deactivated or not, move the piece of scrap.”

Dirge stooped and leaned over the Autobot. He was not dead, not yet. Soon, Dirge would see. He would see what it was like. But, how to do it, there were so many ways that were not yet his. Rip out a fuel line? Crush his spark? Oh, yes, Dirge thought. But first, maybe there was something else he wanted.

“Bring out Scalpel,” Thundercracker told Skywarp. Skywarp slowly, hands shaking, opened his cockpit and reached inside for the small Decepticon. Thundercracker picked up Scalpel and deposited him on Dirge's shoulder. “I request you remain with Dirge until further notice, Doctor.” Unlike the others, Scalpel had announced no intention to pledge his allegiance to Thundercracker. He would tolerate the Doctor's presence so long as he offered maintenance service in exchange for room and board. And, Skywarp liked him, for some reason.

Thundercracker took Skywarp's right hand in his and drew him up the stairs to the fourth floor. As he passed Slipstream's position he flashed to her, 'Cover 4. Make certain he moves it. Soon.'

Slipstream gave a nod. She did not like the order, but she accepted it. Truly, in this case, she found no fault with Thundercracker, but she was a bit disturbed by Dirge. His need to have and learn and experience everything had reached a point at which she could foresee horrors if he did not received frequent guidance and discipline. She commed to him. 'Dive his memory. Find his residence. We can move him there. Maybe find a useful view.' 

Thundercracker pulled Skywarp after him, until he found a shadowy area, which appeared to be a narrow hall leading to roof access.

“I'm really sorry,” Skywarp whispered.

Thundercracker touched a claw to Skywarp's mouth. “Focus. Do not speak yet. When I ask, just answer yes or no.” Thundercracker saw Skywarp shift slightly and took it as compliance. “Did you incapacitate the Autobot before he could send out a signal?”

“Yes.”

“Are you quite certain of this?”

“Yes.”

“Now answer me with a direct quote. What did Scalpel say?”

Skywarp winced, Thundercracker took it as surprise that anyone knew Scalpel had spoken. Skywarp realized he must have mentioned it aloud in his panic. “Skywarp! Kill Autobot. He has seen.”

“Now, yes or no, is Scalpel your commanding officer?”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

Skywarp hesitated, ashamed he had failed, and confused over not being able to kill an Autobot, and just scared. He felt Thundercracker touch his jaw to lift his face. Skywarp saw Thundercracker looked serious, but not very angry. It was not quite that face that meant his ego kept him from speaking something, but it was somehow similar.

“We are going to talk later. If anyone else questions you about the situation with the Autobot, do not answer except to say I have ordered you not to speak of it. Do not even think of it, until I ask you about it again. I need you to focus. We have a mission.”

“But, Sir, I mean, Thundercracker.”

“I need you...to focus,” Thundercracker repeated.

“Me too, I mean, yes, I am focused on the mission, of course.” Thundercracker did not miss Skywarp's slight wince at his verbal misstep.

Slipstream noticed Skywarp's return as she was watching the hall. She and Dirge were just attempting to access the Autobot's apartment. Dirge had dove the Autobot's memory to get his access code. The body, as he was dead now, was slung over Dirge's wing and shoulder.

“Where did you get that? I know I did not see you carry it here,” Skywarp said.

Slipstream glanced sideways to the spare parts propped against the wall, near the door. “Don't ask.”

“Really.”

“Really don't ask. Do I ask what's really up with you and Gigatron? No, because I know I don't want to know.”

Skywarp sneered at the new nickname. “Have I asked you yet what's really inside the pod?”

“I wouldn't have answered that either,” Slipstream said, but it was obvious to both she was backing down. She really, really did not want to talk about that.

“I'm in. The apartment is mine!”

“Ours, My Brother,” Slipstream reminded Dirge. She carried the spare parts into the apartment, after Dirge and his luggage.

Thundercracker came from down the hall and met Skywarp at the door. “Were you appropriately I-C?”

Skywarp laughed softly. “I asked myself, 'What would Starscream do?' So, of course I was haughty, snarky and deflected attention from my own issues by bringing up everyone else's.”

“Good work.”

“You know what she has in that pod?”

“It was obvious. I want to know why.”

Slipstream watched Skywarp come into the apartment with Thundercracker from the corner of her optics. “Fortunately we encountered an Autobot with an excellent view of the prison,” she said. Said Autobot was lain out on the floor, with Scalpel and Dirge investigating his parts.

“Excellent. Good thing Dirge was able to dive him while he still functioned. Slipstream, good work today. You have command; I will be in my quarters.” Thundercracker went to the door, which he correctly guessed lead to the Autobot's private chamber.

Slipstream smirked as she looked at Skywarp. If she had command, then Skywarp was obviously going with him.

“Skywarp,” Thundercracker called, “We will discuss that matter now.

“What's this part?” Dirge asked Scalpel.

“Cosmotron. Bad to lose.”

“Good to know. And this?”

“Power rectifier. Regulates special abilities.”

“This?”

Scalpel tipped his head, then raised a claw to adjust his spectacles. “Emulator. Non-universal. Universal emulator best.”

The private chamber also had a view of the prison. Thundercracker looked for a moment, before turning back into the room. It was not spacious , but it had the basic facilities for washing and recharging. It had a view, and his wings did not scrape the ceiling; those were the really important things. Skywarp was near the door.

“Do you want to wash?” Thundercracker asked.

Skywarp glanced at the facilities. “Yes, but not now. Not before your regalness.”

“A seat then?” Thundercracker gestured toward the fold-out berth, left in its lowered position.

Skywarp declined. “If you are going to assign my punishment, I would rather just get it over with, so then we can go back to normal.”

Thundercracker gave a nod. “Then,” he said, as he took a seat on the berth, “Why do you deserve punishment?”

Skywarp shifted, not quite cowering or slouching, but knees together and leaning slightly. Maybe, conscious or not, he was trying to look cute. “I couldn't kill the Autobot,” he said, “I am a Decepticon. I am loyal, Thundercracker, I promise, and believe in the cause, but there was just something frightening about it and I couldn't finish it...couldn't finish him, after I stunned him with the first shot.”

Thundercracker considered this. “Do you know why?”

“Not exactly. I know I can fight, and if someone was trying to hurt me, I think I might be able to do it: deactivate them. But...I'm not sure. The situation just seemed scary somehow and I was unable to act.”

“I do prefer honorable face-to-face battle between soldiers of similar rank, myself. And that Autobot seemed beneath you, Skywarp.”

“Scalpel said I could take him; he was weak.”

“He did?” Thundercracker wondered how the Doctor had determined that.

“I am sorry,” Skywarp said quietly, “not only because I do fear punishment, but because I truly regret disappointing you, Thundercracker.”

“You have never disappointed me, Skywarp.” This was true. Before the smile, there had been no expectation from which to draw comparison. Afterward, there had been no disappointment. “Not once. You have bantered, teased, mocked, stalled, played coy, and cowered, but you never refused a request I made of you. You have never failed me.”

Skywarp rushed forward and took a knee before his leader. He bowed his head respectfully, and maybe with a little anxiety. “Forgive me if I presume to question your motives, My Lord, but could it be...?”

“You are my Second. It is your first duty to question me, if you believe me to stray from the best interests of our cause.”

“It is exactly that, Sir. That is, might it be, since I have been at your side so long, and enjoyed your protection, and sworn allegiance to before all others, that I am in some way dear to you?” Skywarp shuttered his optics, fearful that Thundercracker's ego might cause him to react in anger rather than acknowledge what must be true.

There was near silence, and then Thundercracker put his claws lightly to Skywarp's left wing. “You are very dear to me. I have said it to you before, have I not?”

“Yes.” Thundercracker had addressed him as such, but Skywarp had not been any more convinced that the words were spoken in earnest than in play. “I am truly happy to hear it, but understand that even know I aim to be worthy of being your Second, and so I must ask if it is possible you have been showing me some favoritism. Have you protected me more than I needed? Given me more supplies than my accomplishments warrant? Made excuses not to punish me for my weaknesses.?”

“My Dear Skywarp, you have truly surpassed your programming and transformed yourself, if you can now become suspicious and angry that you feel over-protected.”

“Answer my question.” Skywarp lifted his head and saw Thundercracker look on him. The expression was close to the expression that meant Thundercracker was swelling with pride that he and his latest plan were marvelous or magnificent. Yet, this expression seemed somehow non-egotistical.

“Sit beside me,” Thundercracker invited. He took his hand from Skywarp's wing to help him from the floor. He saw that Skywarp complied, though he was still aflutter with suspicion. “I think about Megatron a lot.”

“What?!”

“The Starscream memory, which we all have. I see that, although we were all installed with the same memories, we each take from that memory and experience what we find most useful or interesting to our own individual lives. I feel sometimes that I am the one who fought at his side through the wars. I know I was not really there, but I see all the events clearly. I think on these memories of Megatron and Starscream often. I view them from some slight distance, as if considering myself so superior to Starscream, I can be nearly an objective observer. They made so many mistakes. They also, at times demonstrated very effective leadership ability. I have learned from this. I do seriously intend to surpass them both in every way. I will be a leader, and a better one than either of them.”

“And, how is it I figure in the plan?”

“Skywarp, when I conquer the universe, I fully intend that you will still be at my side. And if I change my mind and decide the universe itself is unworthy of my effort, then I will at the least have a grand domicile fitting my status, and there you will have a seat at my right side.”

“Then it was favoritism,”Skywarp said sadly. He was working so hard to be strong in his own right, that it hurt to think Thundercracker was being patronizing.

“No. That is not true. What I mean to say is that one thing I have learned from this memory in me, is that an effective leader understands that fair and equal treatment of subordinates does not always mean the treatment is identical in nature. Some subordinates require strict discipline to show their best effort, others need positive encouragement, and yet others may need to be given free rein to show their worth. It is my job to decide what treatment is most befitting a subordinate and our particular situation. It is as much my duty to know to which tasks each is best suited. If I have given you a little extra fuel, suggested you save energy and not ordered you to use lethal force, it is because my brilliant strategic mind sees the value of you and your skills to our cause. I do not have a line of three others qualified to take your place, so I must choose my time to move you into play wisely.”

“I did not think of it in that way. I can see how it makes sense, now. But, Thundercracker, what if the others do not understand?”

“You are a Decepticon warrior, are you not? You show them why you are 2IC and an asset to our cause. You make them understand. Sometimes it is smart to think 'What would Starscream do?' but then sometimes, it may be wiser to learn from his past mistakes and do something quite different.”

Skywarp shifted, his left wing rubbing Thundercracker's right. “You know what you said about there being a place for me, and conquering the universe? I would like very much to be at your side, whether you become Master of the Universe, or Lord of the Manor. I would happily follow you anywhere, Thundercracker, because you are also very dear to me.”

“I already knew,” Thundercracker said proudly. He turned his head and saw Skywarp's smile. “Every time I see your smile, I just know. I am assured that I truly am the most gifted being in the universe.”


	9. Comes and Goes

Sunstorm felt truly miserable, as the autotroopers led him back to the cell. Ramjet seemed to be recharging. It was just as well he was, as Sunstorm did not feel up to answering any questions about their nurse. Ramjet had been acting strangely since the nurse-bots had carried him into the cell in medically-induced stasis. The things he said, since he had last woken...Sunstorm was not certain, but he thought some of them might literally be true.

Sunstorm stepped back into the cell as the bars were temporarily deactivated. By rote he turned around to allow the stasis cuffs to be removed. He saw Doc Smokey, as Swindle called the red and blue door-winger, approach the autotroopers. He spoke to them in Autobot. Sunstorm had only picked up a few words, and those, he guessed, were the ones most unchanged from Ancient Cybertronian, such that they sounded similar in Decepticon, or Modern Autobot.

The autotroopers were programmed to speak Decepticon to prisoners, though Sunstorm noticed they had outrageous northern accents. He heard them say, “Against the wall, Detainee,” and “Get that one up.” If he were feeling better, Sunstorm would complement them on their fine accents and perhaps on how exceptionally gentle they were with prisoners, but he just had no motivation to speak.

They thought he was glitched, that something was really wrong with him, and maybe they were right. That nurse, Red as Ramjet called her, had even looked concerned. Maybe she had expected a Decepticon prisoner to fight or provide witty banter, or something. Sunstorm had silently complied with all her requests. He had allowed her to connect his body up to diagnostic machines and let her examine his body thoroughly. He did not find her so interesting as Ramjet apparently did; in fact Sunstorm felt nothing much at all.

He still had his wits, he knew. There was nothing wrong with his logic circuits or sense receptors. He still had functioning self-diagnostics to tell him that. But his emotional circuitry and subroutines were reacting negatively to confinement. He needed to get out. Even if he left Ramjet and Swindle and the rest to suffer, he just had to get out.

“You two lucky mechs get doctor prescribed yard time,” Smokescreen said. While Ramjet had been impressed to find Autobots that spoke any Decepticon, Sunstorm drew from his installed memory the understanding that the language was not something so secretive as their encryption codes. Most living mechanisms could learn to speak it, if they had the vocalizers, and even other lifeforms might learn to process its meaning. The only thing even mildly interesting about their nurse was that her accent was very proper and almost Seeker-like, while this Doc Smokey had the static and drawl of oil house and pleasure palace dealings, rather like Swindle, when he was not consciously projecting false trustworthiness.

Smokescreen approached Sunstorm, who had obediently faced the wall of his cell. “We'll remove the stasis cuffs, but I got a new piece of jewelry for ya. If you leave the perimeter of the yard, and that includes the z axis, Seeker, you'll go into immediate stasis. You try to fly and you'll fall like an unalloyed cybertronium weight.” It was a collar, Sunstorm realized, plugged directly to his i/o port, to send shutdown signals quickly to his processor, and locked in place.

Ramjet, a little hazy from a forced boot out of recharge mode, swayed as the 'troopers put the same type of collar about his neck.

Smokescreen removed the stasis cuffs from Sunstorm, as the collar would make them superfluous. “Let's go now,” he said. Sunstorm complied.

Ramjet gave a start, “Where are we going?”

The 'troopers pushed him into the corridor and to the right, past cell 218, with the little fleshling within. “Mama!”

Sunstorm looked back and saw Swindle make an odd gesture toward Smokescreen, touching his own mouth, and then blowing across his digits, as if to infect Doc Smokey with some airborne viral nanoagent. “Slag-off, Swindle,” Smokescreen quipped.

They passed through a door at the end of their cell block, where the troopers used the keys integrated into their digits to gain passage. Sunstorm recognized a few of the other prisoners from visits to the wash facilities or indoor exercise area. As in his block, many were Decepticons, but there were even a few Autobots here, as well as mechanisms and organics from other worlds. The 'troopers unlocked another door, and they came within view of the yard.

Smokescreen pressed the two Seekers into the yard, and there activated the collars. “Enjoy your stay. Someone will be out to collect you when your medi-bot says you've had a suitable amount of time.”

“Red said she could get us into the yard,” Ramjet whispered. Sunstorm thought him strange again and walked away, into the yard.

It was a long rectangular area, with high walls fitted with network of sensors and gun placements as a deterrent to climbing. There were some sculptures about the yard, likely some Autobot concept of rehabilitation and pacification through art. All were of a shape and size to remain securely positioned and unlikely to be broken down for weapon materials. No sharp edges. It was good to see the sky and stars, but there was no forgetting they were in prison and completely robbed of freedom. So hypocritical how some Autobots claimed freedom as a right of all, as excuse for 'liberating' worlds from Decepticon rule, yet were quite willing to keep Decepticons as prisoners.

“Oh, you're doing well,” Ramjet said in his usual biting tone.

“I need to get out of here,” Sunstorm said earnestly, “I just have nothing left. There's nothing good to say.”

“Make sure to tell them how glitch-free and complicit you were in Megatron's plans, if we ever get a trial.”

Sunstorm wondered if Ramjet really believed they would even get a trial. Maybe they would just be held indefinitely as some kind of terrorists or war criminals needed for future interrogation. Even if he got a trial and convinced them he was somehow innocent due to being glitched, he'd most likely still be institutionalized somewhere very like his current cell block.

“Red,” Ramjet said.

Sunstorm turned and looked toward the doors. He could see Red Alert and Smokescreen just inside the yard, but neither moved to approach.

“I don't want to talk to her,” Ramjet said sharply.

Sunstorm vented air in sigh. Ramjet obviously did want to go speak to their nurse, but his statement was not literally a lie, as it was also plain to Sunstorm that Ramjet was seriously trying to convince himself that he really did not want to speak to her.

Red alert looked toward Ramjet. He was trying to pretend he was not looking back, but he obviously was keeping her in the periphery of his field of vision, maybe training all his active sensor systems on her. She spoke to Smokescreen, “The Seeker designated Sunstorm is not glitched in the sense of having any permanent bug in his processor, but his emotional subroutines are legitimately affected by his confinement. If it is the prison's policy to treat prisoners without cruelty, then he should have regular visits to the yard. It might even be advisable to put him on one of the labor details.”

“Really, Red Alert? Sentinel informed us he was one of Megatron's top lieutenants.”

“Sir, with all due respect, based on my training and personal evaluation of the subjects, I must conclude that Sentinel Magnus was possibly mistaken.”

“Probably exaggerated their ranks to put himself in a better light.”

“Your words, Sir,” Red Alert stated. “He and Ramjet are simply too young to have had the time to realistically ingratiated themselves to a Decepticon of Megatron's rank such as to be recognized as 'top lieutenants'.”

“They look fully upgraded to me.”

“Yes, Sir, but remembering they are clones, they never underwent the youngling phase.”

“Really?”

Read Alert took a calming breath and exhaled. “My examination revealed them to be less than a hectocycle in age, Sir. Physically they are identical to an adult Cybertronian, and have some pre-installed information, but they have only brief life experience of their own. I cannot say they are younglings, but we might compare their emotional and developmental state to mechs who only just received their final upgrade. Sir, the Seeker clones are in a volatile and even fragile stage. Their electro-chemical systems are spiking wildly. I think Ramjet is experiencing some Decepticon stage similar to initialization of dating or life-bonding protocols.”

Smokescreen laughed, remembering when he had been that age: The chases, the road rage, the recklessness driving, the intense competitive need to prove his worth in races and impress others with his looks, the unyielding desire for attention and the fixation on those whose attention he sought. Some mechs never really outgrew that stage, Primus love them.

“Sir, I do not see the humor. It is medically...well just imagine being in prison at that stage.”

“I think I see what you mean.”

“I need to do more research.”

“I see,” Smokescreen said, understanding finally, as he looked from one to the other that it was Red Alert whom Ramjet had fixated upon. “You know there are names for such syndromes, case studies.”

“I know!” Red Alert said, losing her usual cool, “You think I don't know the precariousness of the situation? Simfur Syndrome, Ratchet Syndrome. The bonds that form between hostages and captors, or between medi-bot and patient. I recognize the potential ethical dilemma!”

“Relax, Red, I'm not suggesting you could fall for a Decepticon; I'm just saying you should be careful around him.” 

“Of course I couldn't!” Red Alert said loudly. At that, she sensed something, without knowing what, like a shiver at learning something disturbing, a hot chill. Then, she was consciously aware of a humming sound coming from the yard. “Go inside. Now!” she hissed at Smokescreen.

He began to protest.

“He thinks you did something to upset me! Go! I really do not want to have to put him down again for assaulting you.”

Smokescreen looked suspiciously at Red Alert, but he opened the outer door and went inside. She took several meditative breaths as she watched Ramjet from the corners of her optics. He was fuming, optics glowing fiercely, claws flexing; his wings appeared somehow higher and larger, though she assumed this was illusion created by his specific posture. Any first kilocycle mechology student would recognize it as a posture of challenge and territorial claim.

Red Alert saw Sunstorm glance and then walk away.

Ramjet, approached, as Red Alert had anticipated. His posture shifted dramatically as he came close to her. His head bowed to respect her shorter stature, his wings flexed and seemed to crowd her. Ramjet lifted his left arm and slipped it passed Red Alert's head to touch the wall behind her, thus barring anyone in the yard, which was only Sunstorm at present, from approaching. This, Red Alert thought would be viewed by many races as a posture of claim and protection over what he claimed. It would be flattering, if it did not also present such an ethical dilemma.

“Red,” Ramjet sang.

“How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I just love that door-winger.”

“Smokescreen is a co-worker only; he happens to be an acquaintance to my creators, and would not do anything untoward to incur their wrath. You understand? He is no threat.”

“You smell good.” Not a lie.

“Thanks,” Red Alert said awkwardly, “but, how do you feel?”

Ramjet lifted his left hand; it hovered as if to touch Red Alert's left arm, and was then withdrawn. Ramjet tipped his head to one side and then the other, optics fixed on Red Alert. “I want to court you properly.”

“What does it mean, 'court'?”

“Court is to court.”

“Is it Seeker jargon? It does not sound like Decepticon. I do not know if Autobots have such a term, so you will have to explain.”

Ramjet tried to think of a way to explain what was so ingrained that it never needed definition in his mind. “To court is to prepare...to curry favor with one's intended...until they decide if future vows will be accepted.”

“Is it, as I understand, something like dating before committing to a bonding ceremony?” Red Alert asked, using several Autobot terms out of necessity.

Ramjet did not understand. “I do not know what Autobots do. It is not the same as with other Decepticons,” Ramjet said. They both understand that others indicated those who were not Seekers. Seekers being both elite and fliers. Some Decepticons may be elite, or fliers, but only Seekers were the Seekers. Red Alert did not know why they were an elitist and exclusive sub-faction, only that they were. “What other Decepticons do you might call consorting. It is not exactly that, but I doubt Autobots have a term for what they really do.”

Red Alert's processor filled with extrapolation of unnatural things that Decepticons might consider proper. “H-How is courting different from this consorting-like activity?”

“Consorting-like is political, to vow alliance, to unite sub-factions, to assure loyalty and gain properties. The vows of those who successfully court are to maintain culture and code without degradation.”

“I understand,”Red Alert said quietly. She tried to think on it with clinical objectivity, but what she really thought was that Ramjet, this tall, broad, sarcastic, fast, crash-prone, yet strangely indestructible Decepticon Seeker was announcing his formal intention to secure reproductive rights. Of all Cybertronians he might have selected, he wished to secure her vow to spark new life with him in the future, to combine her codes with his and produce offspring. It was rather flattering, even if insane. The very thought that she was object of such attention, and flattered, initiated her own long-suppressed dating protocols. This was very bad, but somehow good, but very very bad, but....

Red Alert giggled.

“You understand,” Ramjet stated, pleased with himself.

Red Alert struggled internally to retain her trained calm. “Then, you propose something like what some cultures call 'matrimony'? To make a binding vow to join households, as well as produce future offspring?”

“The vows only come after successful courting. I only announce my formal intention to court you. To be honored with the opportunity to prove my worth to you.”

“And how is it known if courtship is successful?”

Ramjet laughed. This answer should be obvious. “If you decide you totally hate me and never want to make any vows to me,” he said sarcastically.

“Ah,” Red Alert vocalized wordlessly. She felt rather crowded into a corner, and literally was, when she thought about it. “Courting is similar to what Autobots call 'dating' and the future vows are like the ceremony of 'life-bonding'.”

“Red,” Ramjet sang, “Do you acknowledge my intentions? Will you do me the honor of agreeing to date, as you put it?”

This was very bad. “I acknowledge your intention.” that was true enough. She well understood what Ramjet's intentions were at this point. “But, are you certain? I mean, there are medical conditions, syndromes of the processor that can cause one to confuse another feeling of dependence or need, such as between prisoner and captor or doctor and patient, with something romantic.”

“Oh, sure, it's so obviously a syndrome. I am so strained in my central processing unit that I project romantic feelings on you in order to pretend willingness, so that I do not really form a glitch from being so powerless and at your mercy.” Completely sarcastic. “I wish I was at your mercy.” Frighteningly true.

“Listen, this is a really bad idea. You do not really know to whom you are speaking. I'm not certain how much information was pre-installed, but....”

“I don't care. I don't care if you torture and disassemble Decepticons. I do not care if you do mad experiments. I do not care if you met Starscream once and turned down his offer to court you. I am not Starscream; I'm me.”

“That actually never happened.” Oh, they had met, but there had been no mention of courting.

“But you probably met him, and you probably did some horrible experiments, too, but I sincerely do not care. I am well aware of the perversity of me wanting to court an Autobot, so I can't really hold such things against you.”

“You realize that it will not get you out of prison?”

“Thought never crossed my mind,” Ramjet lied; “Nevertheless, my intentions are pure,” he said truthfully.

Oddly, Red Alert felt that she could tell when Ramjet was lying, or not. “I don't see why I should date you,” Red Alert said in a dead serious tone, “You don't amuse me at all, and I can't stand looking at your colors.”

“Have I told you how I abhor deadpan humor?”

“All the time.”

“Then you should know I totally hate you!” Ramjet said, touching a hand to Red Alert's arm. “And it goes without saying that I no longer care what you think about dating.”

“Then I do not have to deign to give you an answer,” Red Alert said, touching Ramjet's hand to lift it from her arm. “And obviously the answer is no, because I am still your doctor!”

Ramjet smiled smugly. “Oh, my shard is breaking that you do not want me.”

“I don't feel so much as a flicker for you,” Red Alert said as she squeezed Ramjet's hand. She slipped her hand from Ramjet, then and backed toward the door. 

“I could not care less than I do right now.”

“We are so not dating,” Red Alert said as she reached back to open the door.

“I never want to see you again,” Ramjet said as he watched Red alert go back inside the prison. He stood gazing at the door a while longer, then turned to enjoy his remaining time in the yard.

“You're not smug at all,” Sunstorm said, as Ramjet came near.

“That's my line.”

“Do not even speak to me. I cannot tolerate your smug satisfaction right now.” He really had run out of nice things to say.

Red Alert walked quickly through the first cell block, ignoring the usual calls and taunts from the prisoners. The situation was very bad, but even knowing this, she was happier than she could remember being in a long time; even happier than the time she and her old Academy rival had teamed up to build a negavator and won victory over Gigantion Tech, in the science fair competition.

At the next door, Red Alert used her security code to enter the adjacent cell block. As she passed Lugnut's cell, she remembered reading in his file that he was consort to the Decepticon General Strika. Or, perhaps she was consort to him; Red Alert was not entirely sure how things went with Decepticons. Since speaking with Ramjet, Red Alert had new appreciation for this information. Politically the union could be a means for Megatron to bind a powerful General, along with her soldiers, to one of his most loyal lieutenants, and thus ultimately to him.

Red Alert stopped when she reached the cell where Swindle and Vortex sat. She spoke calmly to Swindle, “I will tell Smokescreen you are acting up, again.”

“And what do you want in return?” Swindle loved getting time with Doc Smokey. Red Alert did not fully understand the relationship, but she believed Swindle and Vortex played up their madness as a means of gaining certain information or privileges. Or maybe they just gambled in their sessions.

“I want nothing.”

“You reek of jet fuel,” Vortex cackled.

“I do not,” Red Alert said, almost loosing her cool demeanor. “I will tell the autotroopers I found your energy absorbers were malfunctioning and you need extra rations of energon to compensate,” she said kindly. Red Alert then leaned in toward the bars and threatened Vortex, “If you cross me in any way, I will literally disassemble you, reformat you as a paint blender and give you to Tracks as a gift! One little scratch on his finish and he'll have you spinning your blades to mix his custom blue while he takes a shower under the sandblaster to remove the old. You will dull your blades and wear out your rotors mixing paint for sportscars until they throw you out for scrap!”

“All right, all right! And they think I'm glitched?”

“I used to be a sportscar,” Swindle said.

“Were not.”

“I was. A red one.”

“You were named Sideswipe, too, I suppose.”

“He stole all my customers!” Swindle insisted in outrage.

Red Alert left the two mechs arguing and continued to Smokescreen's office. She found him seated at his desk, having a drink of liquid energon. “Sir.”

“Everything all right?”

“I'm fine. Swindle's acting up, however; I think you should talk to him. And, maybe bring Vortex in too, I think his energy absorber could be troubling him again. Maybe order some extra rations until he can be tested.”

“It's a chronic ailment, with Swindle, too; makes me wonder what passes as maintenance and repair among Decepticons.”

Red Alert had known of the condition from their files. “Yes, Sir. I think I will do a little research in the med-bay, before I go home.”

Smokescreen gave a nod. Red Alert left his office quickly.

She went to the administrative area of the med-bay and sat before a terminal to place a call to an outside line. After a klik or so, Council Member Perceptor appeared on the monitor, answering in his distinctive monotone. “Red Alert. How may I help you?”

“Hello, Professor,” Red Alert replied. “As you no doubt are aware, I am currently assigned to the prison. I have two Seeker clones in my custody here. It would help me advance my research if you would grant me clearance to the pre-war academy records, and possibly use your contacts in Intelligence to get me any information available on other clones the Elite Guard, or Optimus Prime's crew may have encountered.”

“The Council values your work. I can assign you the requested clearance, but I do not understand what you hope to find.”

“When I attended the Academy, there was a professor there who was an expert on Seeker-builds.”

“You also had the rare opportunity to attend class with a Seeker. Such war-builds are not often found with aptitude for science.”

“My understanding is that Seekers are not strictly war-build, but elite flight models.” They were, she thought, roughly analogous to sports models among Autobots.

“Who joined the Decepticon faction to the last in waging war. Their aerial assaults caused many Autobot casualties.”

“Of course. I know. I did not seek to suggest they were not entirely complicit in the past wars, only to suggest the theoretical hypothesis that Seekers were not originally developed strictly for warfare, but for flight, and only later was their dominance of the air recognized as an advantage to be exploited for warfare.”

“Your academic pursuit is admirable. I will grant you clearance to the pre-war Academy database. Expect my databurst with updated authorization and Intelligence report.”

“Thank you very much, Professor,” Red Alert said to Perceptor. 

Red Alert waited for the data, and upon receiving, downloaded the information from the terminal into her own memory. At that, she decided it would be best to continue the rest of her research at home. She had a lot to think about, and her apartment offered comfort, security, and most of all privacy.

Red Alert processed the data in the intelligence report as she made her way through the prison corridors to the main entrance. The Autobots who had been to the planet Earth had encountered a total of seven 'Starscreams', not counting the original one. They referred to these seven collectively as 'Starscream clones', as it had later been confirmed that the original Starscream had created the clones in his lunar base of operations, using protoforms that the Cyber-ninja turned bounty hunter, Lockdown, had previously stolen from Cyber-ninja Master Yoketron's keeping.

The first two clones they encountered were confirmed to have been completely destroyed and deactivated in an explosion. Of the latter five, two had been only briefly encountered, before traveling through a space bridge with Intelligence Officer Blurr. Their present whereabouts, as those of Blurr, remained unknown. Two of the remaining three had been captured by Sentinel then-Prime and brought to Cybertron. Red Alert knew these two as Ramjet and Sunstorm. The last, described as a femme with violet and teal colors, had been believed by Intelligence to have taken Starscream's former position as Decepticon Air Commander, but more recently was believed to have gone AWOL, while Megatron was absent from Earth. She had last been seen operating rogue by Optimus Prime, and was presumed to be at large on Earth.

Red Alert stopped as she came to Clamp Down's office. She knocked once then opened the door. The Warden was alone, looking over reports from his subordinates on a stack of datapads. “How are your patients?” He asked, without looking up.

“I reported my findings to Smokescreen,” Red Alert, leaning against the frame of the door. Her tone was more one of kin than subordinate to ranking officer.

“Going home?”

“I have some research I am working on, but I will finish at home and return for my next shift. What about you? Working late, again?”

“Always.”

“You should go home. Tracks gets lonely without anyone to admire him, and Deep Cover's still away on his mission.” 

“Oh, no, I'm sure he is out clubbing, or at some gallery opening with Sunny. They may even all have taken Jazz out racing, now he's back on Cybertron.”

“That's right, he'd gone to Earth for a while.” Red Alert said, recalling the gossip amongst the sports and racing set.

“Have you spoken to Rodimus or Hot Shot since your transfer?”

“No. I figured Rodimus didn't want to be seen while in recovery, and he's got so many other friends. He just thinks of us as subordinates, I'm sure. And, honestly, Hot Shot is a little annoying. Well, don't get me wrong, I put trust in him as a teammate, but that's different than wanting to socialize when off duty.” Red Alert did not want to be that femme standing in the background massaging the reckless sports model's shoulders after a race.

“I understand.” He said he understood, but Red Alert knew his tone really said: Why haven't you settled down and bonded yourself to a nice flashy sports model yet. “What about your friends in the protectobot and medi-bot service? Inferno, or Hot Spot?”

Red Alert's response was a flat, “No.” But, she did actually appreciate that Clamp Down was willing to consider those prospects who were not so fast and flashy. They were the types he socialized with at the traditional oil house, when off duty. Good sparks, all; Red Alert liked working with them, but it was the same as with Hot Shot: the working relationship wasn't anything more than that. “Don't work too late.”

Red Alert let herself out of the office and went to the main entrance. She passed by the autotroopers there and continued to the roadway. She transformed there, into a white and red utility vehicle with medi-bot symbols and emergency lights. She shifted into gear and drove down the access road that traversed the flat expanse surrounding the prison, which had long ago been an air field.

Red Alert was almost to the buildings, where she could turn east to reach the junction with the expressway north, when her left front tire went out. Her rim spun against the metal roadway as she completed a barely controlled 180 and then transformed. It would have to be the front tire, she thought as she sat on the road, looking back toward the prison. The rear tires were easy to reach, being on her legs, but the front tires ended up behind her shoulders in root mode and were thus difficult to reach.

“Don't move,” said a frighteningly familiar voice in Decepticon. Part of her wished it was somehow Ramjet, but she knew the Starscream clones all had identical vocalizers. “You are mine, Autobot.”

“Our prisoner,” Slipstream corrected, walking around to the front of the Autobot, as Dirge remained behind with null rays trained on Red Alert's back. “Prisoner,” she said to Red Alert in badly accented Autobot.

Red Alert had fought Decepticons before, but alone, and without ability to drive away the probability of defeating both was slim at best. She was well trained in self-defense and had tools that might be used to do harm, but nothing that compared to the guns they wore on each arm.

“Stun her already, we need to move to cover. I'm not going to dive her here in view of the main entrance!”

“Court!” Red Alert said quickly, understanding their plans for her.

Slipstream crouched and looked at Red Alert at optic level. There should be no way an Autobot, especially some truck, should know even a word of Seeker jargon, especially a word like that. “Speak, Autobot.”

Red Alert took a calming breath and exhaled cool air. “I am in courtship with Ramjet. Therefore, I am potentially kin. He will tear you apart if you harm me.”

Slipstream growled in outrage and shot Red Alert in the chest.


	10. Truly Outrageous

“This is an outrage!” Thundercracker ranted.

“It's a lot more outrageous than you know,” Slipstream said, heaving the stunned Autobot femme onto a bench in their apartment-by-conquest.

“You were not supposed to bring it here!”

“Sir,” Slipstream said, with more irritation than respect, “What about hearing your subordinate's report before taking out your unfounded anger on us?”

“Thundercracker,” Skywarp said, trying to reassure their leader. Slipstream had a point.

Thundercracker growled in irritation. “Why is the Autobot here?” He groaned out.

“You will love this.” What, was she Ramjet now, with the sarcasm and lies? Thundercracker braced himself for the news. “This Autobot claims she and Ramjet are in courtship.”

“Truly outrageous!”

“Maybe he likes her colors,” Skywarp suggested timidly. From what he could see, the Autobot was white and red with some gray parts, much like Ramjet was.

“What is this 'Courtship'?” Dirge demanded, “Why is the understanding not mine! How is it even Skywarp knows?”

“What do you mean 'even Skywarp', Little Brother?” Skywarp demanded.

“You're young. You don't know because your protocols have not been triggered. It's in your code, too, but you will not be conscious of it until its your time,” Slipstream explained calmly.

At that, Thundercracker glared suspiciously at their sister, and realizing this, Slipstream glared back, daring him to ask. Thundercracker realized that Slipstream was right. Neither of them would know any more than Dirge unless the protocols had activated at some point. He was absolutely not going to openly admit to Slipstream at what point his protocols had initiated, or whether he was actively in courtship. Slipstream was no less eager to confess to Thundercracker, though she assumed Skywarp and Thundercracker had triggered each other at some point, even if she was not 100% certain how they had each responded to the activation.

“It is possible to have the protocols active without actually being in courtship,” Slipstream said defensively, “It doesn't mean anything, just that there was enough potential compatibility, even a very small amount, to initiate.” 

“I know who it is,” Skywarp sang.

“You do not!” Slipstream snapped, “there's no one!”

“I want to know!” Dirge cried out.

Skywarp hopped, startled as Scalpel tapped a claw against the inside of his canopy. The others could not hear Scalpel speak from inside the cockpit, but Skywarp had internal audio receptors within his cockpit. “Oh, the Autobot is online!”

The others shifted position in sync, even as Skywarp made a quarter-turn. Red Alert was lying across the bench, propped up on one elbow, and seemingly studying them. She was not operating at 100%, but she was alert enough to understand that she must have been struck with a weapon that temporarily deactivated her electrical systems enough to put her into stasis. She also realized, listening to the Seeker clones and watching their mannerisms, that her theory regarding their development was as good as proven now. They were all physically mature, but emotionally quite young and inexperienced.

Red Alert also noticed that there were four of them. Since none had Starscream's colors, he was supposed to be dead anyway, and she knew the other two were still in the prison, she could only conclude that one of these had not been identified by the Autobots on Earth. Her guess, based somewhat on the intelligence report, but mostly on observation, was that the teal and gold one was new. He definitely acted and was treated like one who was younger than the rest.

“Her designation is 'Red Alert',” Skywarp said, relaying the information from Scalpel. He could just feel the Autobot's optics focus on him, and shifted slightly to put himself behind Thundercracker's right wing.

Thundercracker and Skywarp commed privately; Skywarp explaining that Scalpel knew of this Autobot and that she and Starscream had been acquainted when they were both younglings, before the war. Thundercacker wanted to know how Scalpel knew. 'You remember Scalpel insisting Starscream knew him at some academy? This Autobot was there. Scalpel says she is one of their scientists.'

“She used to have another alt-mode,” Skywarp said aloud, “but it is her.”

“Did Starscream give all of you the same installation files?” Red Alert asked, speaking Decepticon.

“My installation files included updates. I have the most!”

“Glitch,” Slipstream said, “she's our prisoner. Don't answer her.”

“I can speak and process some Decepticon. Do any of you speak Cybertronix? Many traders speak it; the language is said to combine some parts of Decepticon, Autobot and Ancient Cybertronian roots. I know a little more of it. I do not suppose any of you are entirely fluent in Autobot.”

“Why would we wish to learn such an inferior language?” Thundercracker posed. “If you are not able to answer my questions, I will just have one of them dive your memory and take the information.” He gestured toward Slipstream and Dirge, who in his thinking were too willing to make hardline connections to inferior mechanisms. Thundercracker considered such things dirty.

“Who told you my designation, really?” Red Alert asked, “The young one said he had updates, which may only imply memory of events after the rest of you were brought online. If he had information about the past, he would have recognized me outside. But it was this one,” she tipped her head to Skywarp, “Who informed the rest of you. So? Who is feeding you information? Is it Starscream? Is he really dead?”

“Yes, He's dead!” Slipstream said angrily.

Thundercracker and Red Alert both turned to look toward Slipstream, as Dirge moved close and tried to embrace her. Thundercracker had noticed recently that Slipstream refused to say their creator's name. She kept saying 'He', 'Him' and 'His' with strange inflection. It was starting to be annoying. There was no Decepticon funerary custom that prohibited speaking the name of the deactivated. Sometimes the names of traitors were stricken from records and went unspoken, but Starscream had been traitor to Megatron, not his clones. Slipstream had served Megatron for a short time. Thundercracker had learned of it since their reunion. “Did Megatron trigger your courtship protocols?” He asked in disgust.

Slipstream brushed Dirge off, as she answered. “No! As if! I'm not that masochistic, I mean, any more than the rest of you,” Slipstream hissed. She shivered at the disturbing images of Megatron trying to be close to her. “I told you. It's no one!”

Thundercracker still did not understand their sister's strange attitude toward their creator's name. 'Maybe you should leave the room.'

'I didn't do anything wrong!' Slipstream commed back.

'It is not punishment. You brought the prisoner in. Take a short break. You have permission to use the wash facilities. We will not disturb you.' Thundercracker said the order aloud for the benefit of the others, “Good work on capturing the prisoner. Permission to go off duty. I relieve you of the prisoner.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Slipstream said. The others watched as she dragged the spare parts into the private chamber.

'Dirge!' Thundercracker commed.

'Sir?'

'I can tell that you know. What is wrong with your sister?'

'My sister will be angry if I tell you.'

'I am your leader now.'

'My leader. Yes, Sir, Slipstream is grieving.'

Thundercracker noted the Autobot still watching them. He glanced at Skywarp. 'Slipstream is grieving?'

'I believe it likely. She is actually sad that Starscream is dead.'

'She did not even like him!'

'Ah, TC, I think that was just Slipstream being evasive.'

'Dirge, Slipstream is truly sad that Starscream is deactivated?'

'We sang a lament for him, Sir.'

Thundercracker nodded. Well, that explained a few things. His superior intellect had been so very with the mission he had just not noticed. He would have noticed eventually, of course.

“Autobot,” Thundercracker said finally.

“Ramjet calls me 'Red', You may address me as Red Alert, or Doctor, if you like.”

“Red Alert,” Thundercracker said, irritated, “Starscream is in fact dead, and as he was our creator, whatever else we think of him, we are understandably grieved that Autobots caused his deactivation with their AllSpark meddling, so show respect, if you mean to remain unharmed.”

“But, I actually do respect your creator. I did know him, a long time ago. But, how is it that you young Seeker clones know about that, yet did not recognize me yourselves?”

“We are not obligated to answer your questions, Prisoner. Now, explain this outrageous claim that our brother is courting you.”

“Believe me, I think it is crazy, too. However, it is true. Ramjet communicated his intention, I acknowledged his intentions toward me, and then I gave him permission to begin courting me.”

“Maybe he was lying?” Skywarp asked, though he did not believe this himself. He was only hoping there was some other explanation.

Thundercracker shook his head, then fixed his optics back on the medi-bot. “She would not know of it unless someone who was a Seeker told her about it.”

“It wasn't Starscream, perhaps?” Skywarp offered.

“Not Starscream,” Scalpel said.

“No. I suppose not,” Skywarp said then.

“Then, unless it was Sunstorm, which is unlikely if she is claiming Ramjet is the one courting her, we must conclude that Ramjet's protocols really did activate, for how else would one of our brothers know enough to even make up a lie such as wanting to court an Autobot.”

“What a glitch,” Skywarp said.

Thundercracker scoffed. It seemed as ludicrous to him that Ramjet would fixate on an Autobot, but he already held Ramjet as a malfunction in his mind. Of all his brother Seeker clones, Thundercracker had never liked Ramjet. There was no reason; he just didn't. At this point, he probably even liked Dirge better, and Dirge did annoying things like jump on others, demanding things that he wanted.

“He's not glitched,” Red Alert said, “There's nothing wrong with his processor.”

“I do not believe you!” Thundercracker announced.

Red Alert sat up, and seeing the movement, Skywarp trained his right null ray on her. “What do you really want?” Red Alert asked. “Are you going to shoot me? Let me go? Just keep me here?”

“Maybe we'll use you in a prisoner exchange to get our brothers out,” Skywarp said.

“This Autobot is annoying. I think she is toying with us. Maybe Ramjet, malfunction that he is, did fixate on her, but that does not mean she has any genuine feeling for him. She could have just said she accepted the courtship as a means to manipulate her prisoner. Therefore, there is no reason to show her any consideration.”

“Can I have her?” Dirge asked. “Let me have the Autobot. I'll take her memories, and then I'll crush her spark.”

“No!” Thundercracker said. “I already let you have one. I will say who can do what to the prisoner.” He looked down at Red Alert again, “Yes, we killed an Autobot. Did you think us new sparks? Younglings? We have all seen battle. We've fought Autobots and Decepticons.” He then addressed his two subordinates, “Our mission is the important thing. I do not care if Red Alert is potential kin or not. But I am not so desperate and dishonorable to harm a disarmed prisoner, unless she gives me reason.”

“Shall I guess?” Red Alert asked. “You want to get your brothers out of prison.”

Thundercracker laughed. “Do you take me for some idiotic excuse for a leader who reveals all his plans to the prisoner so that they may escape and ruin everything?!”

“Have you even taken a prisoner before?” Red Alert asked, “Skywarp, that's this one here, if I am not mistaken, already said you might use me as a hostage to bargain for Ramjet and Sunstorm. Obviously you do want to get them out. I do not see why you would otherwise have come all the way to Cybertron, which is in Autobot control, and abduct a medi-bot right from the prison access road! You cannot seriously expect me to believe that all coincidence.”

“Well, of course that part is obvious. You are a scientist after all, you must be intelligent and educated enough to see that much. Do not, however, expect that I am going to detail our mission plan for you.”

Red Alert shook her head. “Starscream used to make the same kind of mistakes. He also was intelligent and educated, but he had a hot temper, and he too often let it get the best of him and fixated on some grudge or was blinded by his emotions, and failed. That is why I am a medi-bot respected by the Council and he ended up a lackey to Megatron, whom I understand has little use for intelligence, education, or scientists, except if they build him really interesting weapons or devices to overthrow Autobots. I am sure Megatron thinks of the lot of you as nothing but flying war-builds. He doesn't appreciate your culture, or your elegant forms, he just views you as fodder for his thirst for more power. You could give him the AllSpark itself and he would toss you aside as soon as he had it.”

“Foolish Autobot, I am neither Starscream nor Megatron. I do not intend to repeat the mistakes of either. Now, what cell or cells are Ramjet and Sunstorm in, and how far are the cells from the outer wall, and on which side of the building?”

“They are both in Cell 216, it is along the west side of the building. The wall itself is typical construction; I am not a constructobot to know the actual measurement. However, you cannot break though the wall directly into any cell any more than the prisoners can dig their way out, because there are forcefields.”

“It is not for you to know how we may or may not use the information.” Thundercracker called to Dirge, “Dive the prisoner, we do not want her broken, understand, just dive her memory enough to see if she is telling us the truth.”

“The truth will be mine,” Dirge said eagerly. 

Slipstream heard a knock on the door, after she finished washing, and then heard one of her brothers call her name. They all had the same range to their vocalizers, but she found it easy to tell them apart by their tone and word choice. Thundercracker spoke rather formally and in a haughty, imperious tone. Dirge, depending on whether he had what he wanted at the moment, would either whine, or sound somewhat distracted; he also was more likely to spice his speech with jargon and use possessive terms. Skywarp had a cowardly mode in which his voice was low and sometimes accompanied by a stammer; he also had what Slipstream thought of as a coy mode, in which he showed a lot more bravado and sounded nearly like their creator. 

“Skywarp?”

“Yes, may I come in?”

“Alone,” Slipstream called.

Skywarp entered the so-called officer's quarters and saw Slipstream seated on the edge of the berth, reattaching armor to her left leg. He assumed she must have unplugged the armor to wash thoroughly; as her helm was still missing and her right leg was bare down to the protoform layer with exposed struts, cables and ports. She had the same type of photovoltaic filaments on her head that he had. The filaments were made of a type of spun glass and appeared black at the root and white at the tip, although they were actually colorless and transparent.

“What's going on out there?” Slipstream asked. She would think twice, at least, before letting Thundercracker or Dirge see her when not fully armored; it was considered inappropriate for Decepticons to appear so before other soldiers. It was weakness. She and Skywarp had helped each other with some maintenance in the past, and seen each other without full armor. That was before Thundercracker had allowed Skywarp to remain close to him, which seemed such a long time ago, now. 

Slipstream had actually seen Him, partially bare of armor, just once; she did not like to think about that anymore.

Skywarp saw Slipstream shiver and then lift the armor for her right leg. “Thundercracker is sorry about that thing that he said to you. He won't tell you.”

“I know.” Slipstream plugged the armor into her right leg.

“Anyway, he got the Autobot to give us some information. I am confident I can get in, but we expect there will be alarms and internal gates or doors, and I am not absolutely certain I can get the three of us out. I have warped two before, so I probably could do it, but there's no way of knowing beforehand. I'll just waste energy doing test runs.”

“So, we still need a way for the rest of us to get inside.”

“Exactly, plus, Dirge brought up the point that Ramjet and Sunstorm would have been disarmed, and maybe their comms or other systems deactivated. So, they may not be in a condition to help, when I reach them. Dirge thinks maybe there is on site storage for prisoner's effects.”

“Of course he does, but he also has a point. Null rays were His invention. The Autobots have already had too long to study them, not to mention the medi-bot probably downloaded all their programming. If she did not yet make an off-site back-up, then I may be able to delete that data from their system, if I get in.”

“Dirge already tried diving her....”

“I should have done it. That's part of my duty. And, he's likely to keep some portion of the data for himself.”

“Ah, yes, that is why Thundercracker wishes you to return to duty and try diving her. She gave Dirge some resistance. He was able to confirm things she told us as true, but not to get anything further.”

“I concur with Thundercracker. Please let our leader know that I will make the attempt. Have Red Alert sent in here. You can come back in to watch that nothing bad happens. Have the others wait outside.”

“W-what could go wrong?” Skywarp asked, timid again.

“It's just I haven't dove an Autobot before. I can hack their systems of course. I've cracked some of their encryption codes so far. Their data nets are easy, all pure machine language without encryption. Earth systems are no problem. Still, a conscious Autobot is different. The one Dirge dove before was already in stasis. And, you said she put up resistance. I'm sure there's possibility of some kind of feedback or traceback and other defenses.”

“It's not really my specialty.”

“That's why I am Information Officer,” Slipstream said brightly.

Skywarp gave a nod as he opened his private comm to Thundercracker, relaying Slipstream's plan. “Thundercracker says he will send her in.” Skywarp went to stand near the window, where he could watch the prison, while still being hidden by the wall.

Red Alert walked in. They had not bothered to place her in restraints, but then matters were complicated by her claim to be potential kin. “Did they tell you why you were to come?”

“No, but I suppose they thought it fitting the femme interrogate the other femme.”

“That's got nothing to do with it. I expect a medi-bot to know better. We all have the same plugs and ports. It's just an adaptation to better assimilate with species having sexual dimorphism.”

“Which resulted in gender dimorphism independent from the mechology of reproduction,” Red Alert continued. “At least some of you got the codes for science aptitude.”

“Actually, we each possess all the donated codes, we simply do not each make identical use of our various inherited traits and aptitudes.”

“Which allows you to each fulfill distinct roles within a group, rather than compete with each other for the same position.”

“As you are no doubt thinking, we still do argue over a great number of things, but we have proven an effective team thus far, new to it all, as we are.”

“I am truly fascinated, but exhilarating as this conversation is, I am here to be interrogated.”

Slipstream gestured to the empty section of the berth beside her. “Have a seat.”

Red Alert sat as was suggested. She was not certain what to expect. She had resisted the young one she now knew was designated Dirge, but it had taken effort and caused her processor to strain. She wondered if this was part of the good trooper/bad trooper tactic that Clamp Down had explained to her. After Dirge's greedy forceful manner of diving her memory for information, they were going to have the femme pretend to be caring and helpful and expect this make Red Alert suddenly vulnerable and willing, like a hostage developing Simfur Syndrome?

“Your designation is Red Alert,” Slipstream said. It was not phrased a question. “My Designation is Slipstream, I am Air Commander and Information Officer. Skywarp is there, just to watch, in case there are side-effects. The others will not enter.”

Red Alert gave a nod. Was the femme, Slipstream, trying to play at being bad trooper now?

“Understand, I actively dislike Autobots as a whole. I find the ones on Cybertron decadent and the ones on Earth too willing to ally themselves to organics who would enslave machines. However, I hold no personal grudge against you, thus far. And if Ramjet is truly courting you, I am willing to consider you potential kin, though you be different in spark and shell. So it is not my aim to harm you.”

“But you will, right?”

“If you resist. Mock me if you must, try to get the act over with, and put up a brave face. I understand. I am much better at diving than Dirge. I will slip right through your defenses. It will hurt less if you just give me access, rather than force me to break you.”

“If I gave you the access, I would be complicit in your actions. So, try to break me, if that is what you must do.”

Slipstream tossed her head, causing the mop of glass filaments to sway cutely about her head. “Fine. Be noble, Autobot.” She uncapped the port on the right side of her neck and pulled out the retractable i/o cable. Slipstream then opened the port on the left side of Red Alert's neck and connected the cable.

To dive was to exist as an intelligence in an environment of pure data. But, as all input to the processor was normally data anyway, including data from sense receptors, the processor tended to extrapolate some data into false sensory input during a dive. In other words, Slipstream and Red Alert perceived themselves to exist in a virtual construct, like a great wire-frame expanse.

Slipstream was accustomed to the environment and the change in perception from outer to inner. Red Alert was not accustomed to being dove, or even diving into other systems herself. There was no unifying Cybertronian moral regarding how information was shared, be it hardline or wireless; be it between business partners, friends, schoolmates, or lovers; or what type of data was give, exchanged or received; except that it be voluntary. This meant that what Slipstream was doing was morally gray at best.

Slipstream did not hold to this moral. She felt great interest, perhaps even love for the handling of data and codes. Personal opinion of a mechanism did not matter where information was concerned. To her, a system was a system. She would dive, surf and swim data, navigating as if a fluid being herself, always finding some small gap to slip through. If she did not find a gap existing, she might be like a great body of water against a masonry wall, pressing until the weakest point gave way, even if it allowed her to access only a trickle of data. That small crack could become a wide breech, if she pressed herself enough. Even strong defenses could be worn down given time, eroded by her shifting data, dismantling the defenses a small bit at a time.

Red Alert put up what resistance she could. She drove away, across the virtual wire-frame, relying on her former self-image: a lightly-built white sports model with adaptations for performing long jumps and aerial stunts. She summoned virtual walls to block Slipstream. She set raps behind her. Red Alert tried to keep her secrets: access codes, classified projects, the identity of her kin who was undercover among Decepticons...the emotions and temperament she suppressed in order to function with clinical objectivity.

Slipstream was able to reach all of it. She found paths Red Alert did not expect, small flaws in her defenses which she might exploit, reaching highly protected areas of the central processing unit and memory by going through lightly guarded system utilities.

Slipstream pulled herself out of the dive and gasped, as if she had physically been submerged in fluid and needed air for her atmospheric flight jet engines.

Red Alert, conscious of the outside world, pulled the cord from her neck angrily and collapsed onto the berth. 

Slipstream saw Skywarp take a step toward them. “She's not harmed, not physically. She's just very angry with me...or herself.”

“Did you get enough?” Skywarp asked.

“Can you watch her? I need to report to Thundercracker.

Slipstream grabbed her helm from the floor and fit it to her head before going to the door. Skywarp saw her go and then looked to the prisoner. Red Alert was gripping at the surface layer of the berth and alternately beating the surface in frustration. If she had claws, she would have been tearing things to pieces, but she just had little round digits.

“Are you going to keep hiding, or are you going to come out and see that our prisoner is undamaged?” Skywarp asked aloud, though he was speaking to Scalpel within his cockpit.

Scalpel snapped his claws in irritation. He was not certain he wanted Red Alert to know of his presence. “Sneaky. Manipulative.” Scalpel complained.

Skywarp smiled. “Does that mean you will be coming out, Doctor?”

“Out.” Scalpel said finally. He hopped onto Skywarp's right hand when it reached in for him. He saw the Autobot's blue optics fix on him; she started laughing.

It was so funny, Red Alert thought. She had called Perceptor, asking for clearance, so she could access Professor Scalpel's files, in the pre-war academy database, in order to gain further insight into the Seeker clones. Now, the Seeker specialist was right here, with the very Seeker clones she had intended to study, and who were holding her prisoner. It was so funny. It was truly, truly, truly hysterical.


	11. Can I do Less?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be Furmanisms here.

The mission was truly underway. The plan called for a quick strike: frontal assault on the administrative wing, Dirge was to locate prisoner's effects to recover weapons, Slipstream was to delete on-site data, and Thundercracker was to hold off Autobots for as long as possible, while Skywarp was to sneak in the back and locate their brothers.

Thundercracker, with Slipstream and Dirge on his wings, flew low to the deck, over the vacant expanse surrounding the prison complex. They took out the guards and sensors at the entrance from their max weapon's range, then swept in and broke formation right in front of the doors. Dirge pulled up and flew a pass over the building, taking out sensors and scanning the building. Slipstream did a partial transformation into walker mode and launched a missile into the doors. Thundercracker transformed to his root mode, drew his swords, and walked through the smoke and rubble Slipstream had just created. As soon as Dirge rejoined her, Slipstream and he transformed to root mode and followed Thundercracker in, watching rear and flank.

While the prison workers were either rushing to the emergency in the administrative wing, or going into lock-down procedures, Skywarp sneaked up to the west wall of the prison. Even with information from Red Alert, he had only an approximate fix on where cell 216 was located in relation to the outer structure. Forcefields kept most of his sensors from scanning the interior, or hearing sound. Skywarp reminded himself that he had others depending on him. If he were in prison, he would want Ramjet or Sunstorm to be brave enough to rescue him. “Please not inside a wall, please not fused to something,” Skywarp whispered as he made the estimate-based calculation for the short jump through transwarp space.

Skywarp came out of the jump, limbs held close, posture slouched and optics shuttered. He was not in pain; that was good. He could hear something moving: the servos and hum of an online mech. Skywarp dialed open the irises over his optics. Wrong cell. This mech was a lot larger than a Seeker. “Well, aren't you just a big, beautiful, black bomber?” Skywarp asked, with a nervous laugh.

“Roger.”

The corridor through the west side of the administrative wing filled with smoke. Smokescreen ordered the nearest autotroopers to hold off the attack, while he looked for the Warden.

'This foul stuff is impairing my vision!' Thundercracker commed over the channel linking the four. That the comms even worked was surprising, but appreciated. It did mean that their brothers very likely had fully disabled comms and weapons systems, which would require repair.

'It got me too, working on it.' Slipstream pulled her small oscillating fan from subspace and turned the dial with a claw-tip. The fan shifted the smoke, but did not immediately clear her vision.

'Trying to navigate by sensors...it is sticking everywhere. Clogging receptors. Do not use your jets.'

'Magnetic particles,' Dirge commed, he had been at the rear and was not as badly affected. He reached into his recently perfected transwarp pocket dimension and pulled out a few items. A Soundwave toy fell to the ground and began playing music, blinking lights and dancing: raise your arms, shake it to the left, shake it to the right. The drop was accidental, but an excellent distraction for the autotroopers. Their weapons locked onto the toy as a target. The toy played a pathetic mournful tune as its sound system took damage and whined its final note. Dirge appreciated the sound, even as he was angered at the loss of his toy, but the figure's destruction had bought him enough time to concoct a smoke screen remedy out of speaker internals and a polishing cloth. 'Try this! My new invention!'

Slipstream felt the tap on her wing and quickly stowed the fan, then reached a hand back toward Dirge.

'It will attract the particles,' Dirge explained.

'It works. Thundercracker, I'm at your back.'

Thundercracker continued to swing his swords, as he tried to located the opposition with smoke-clogged sensory systems. He felt Slipstream press close to his wings and reach around to wipe his face. 'Better. Now, get off.' Thundercracker made an exaggerated shrug.

Slipstream scowled behind Thundercracker's back. No one in the universe was good enough for Giga-ego, except his favorite coy little so-and-so. She actually liked Skywarp quite a bit, just not being on the receiving end of Thundercracker's complex over soiled by the unworthy. It wasn't like she enjoyed leaning all over their leader and wiping his face for him.

'Skywarp, you manage to get in?' Slipstream commed privately. And then, to the group, “I'm making a break for my target.”

Skywarp ignore Slipstream's comm. The big guy was standing menacingly close. “So, um, if you promise not to hurt me, I'll get you out of here.”

“Roger.”

“That some kind of outdated military affirmative?”

“Roger.”

“Is that all you say?”

“Roger.”

Just great, Skywarp thought to himself. “Give me a klik, I'm factoring in your approximate mass to see if it makes any significant difference for a short jump. So, nice brand. You from one of those outer rim Decepticon sub-factions?”

“Roger.”

“I see, 'something like that'.” Skywarp put his hand on the big mech's leg and jumped them both into the corridor between cells. He took half a klik to reorient himself. The cells were marked in numbers he could read, and he could tell he was not even in the correct cell block. Skywarp pulled up the vector drawing Slipstream had hastily made, based on information taken from Red Alert. The complex had a roughly rectangular shape. He was probably at the west side of the south wing. He needed to get to the adjacent block, through a door somewhere north. He saw the door.

Prisoners were calling, offering various rewards or acts of violence, wanting Skywarp to get them out. He knew he simply did not have the power. A few jumps at most, and he had not even found his brothers or gotten out of the building yet. He wanted to have some energy left afterward, in case they had to move on to a new hide-out.

Skywarp tried the code Slipstream had given him. The door remained locked. He was starting to really miss Thundercracker. What would Starscream do? Well, probably overreact, as he felt about to, and fail. So, Skywarp need to think of something else. The null rays at max power might blast the door, but this was a prison after all, and the door looked very solidly constructed, like – well, exactly like some kind of blast door. He had a few missiles; he could use those, if he was in jet mode.

“Walker mode!” Skywarp said happily. It looked like there might be just enough room where the east-west and north-south corridors intersected.

Skywarp backtracked to the junction and turned to face the door, estimating the direction and distance. He made the transformation, drawing his arms in, unfurling his cockpit and the nosecone that had been hidden beneath, tucking his head, and lifting his wings horizontal. In this mode, he could stand braced while using his jet-mode weapons systems from the ground. If he had need, he could use the thrusters on his heels and jump to another position.

Skywarp fired a missile at the door. His sensors said the hit had been direct. He transformed, back to his root mode, and looked through the smoke. The door itself was still in one piece, but it was mangled and completely knocked from its hinges and frame. As Skywarp approached the opened passage, he heard another explosion, this one seeming to come from somewhere above, or east; there was some conflict in his various sensor systems, so he interpreted that it was not a single explosion, but simultaneous explosions in slightly different directions.

The walls shook in the administrative wing. Dirge noted the explosions and continued grabbing whatever stored belongings looked interesting, which was most of them.

In the med bay, a chunk of ceiling, ductwork and roof fell into the middle of the ward. Slipstream stopped her work, momentarily, and looked from the resulting hole then to the nurse-bots she held as hostages. Slag it, she thought. They were all likely going to need nurse-bots whenever this whatever-it-was was over. “Get out!” she shouted at them. She made exaggerated gestures toward the doors. If nothing else, their fleeing would be a distraction. Besides, Slipstream had a feeling she needed to hurry, and had no time to waste watching hostages.

“What was that?” Smokescreen yelled over the sound of fighting in the nearby corridor.

Clamp Down was standing near to his desk, still watching the communications terminal. “If it's a second wave of the attack, we may not have enough reinforcements on the way.”

“How many?”

“They said they would see if one of the Minor's could get to us with a security team.”

“What is it about 'Decepticons attacking a prison full of Decepticons, guarded by an old cop, two doctors and a company of basic programs' that they do not understand!?”

“Red never signed in for her shift! I was about to call when they broke through the front doors.”

Red Alert woke finally with the noise of multiple explosions. The last had rattled the windows in the apartment where she had been abandoned. It did not seem there was anyone on guard. Then, she sensed movement and saw Professor Scalpel was with her. “I fix,” he said, waving a claw to her left shoulder, where the damaged tire had been.

“How?” Red Alert asked, still not 100% operational. Probably null rays again.

“Spare.”

“Thanks.” She would have to get a new spare; she could see the damaged tire beside her, obviously shot-out and too damaged to simply patch. Red Alert tried standing and walked slowly to the windows. The prison was under attack; smoke was rising from several areas of the complex. Red Alert recognized some of the Decepticons attacking from the air. “Team Chaar. No.” Her team, led by Rodimus, had encountered them before. That team, led by General Strika, was mainly the reason for their recall and why some team members had been in recovery.

“Strika!” Scalpel said and spit lubricant onto the floor.

Clamp Down was in the prison. Ramjet. “You do not like Strika?”

“I fix.” Red Alert understood. There was a particular stress on 'fix', which she interpreted as meaning Team Chaar had probably tried to persuade Scalpel to craft a weapon, or possibly deliberately and permanently harm a Cybertronian in order to accomplish some plan. Even a Decepticon would resist taking action that went against their primary function and programming. Scalpel fixed.

“I understand. Ethical dilemma.”

“To make expendable.”

“Drones, or some type of suicide attack?”

Scalpel did not speak, but spat again. Red Alert was not fooled by any means, thinking the stance might be noble. She knew very well that Scalpel was thoroughly Decepticon. Even before the war, when she had been young, and he one of her professors, she remembered his holographic lectures and rumors about campus. Professor Scalpel believed in Decepticon ideals: that there should be more equality and freedoms, and that the means to this was revolution and if necessary a kind of forced equality under tyrants, in which the tyrannical government decided how the populace could best be equal. Red Alert was very against their means, though she could sympathize with the longing for equality or personal freedoms. It was sad, in a way, that so many young and underprivileged had been swayed by the Decepticons and joined their side. They were essentially trying to replace one controlling form of government with another controlling form of government.

Maybe it was time for a change. Red Alert had even heard Autobots saying it. But the Decepticon way was not the best means. There had to be other options.

Red Alert looked down from the window. There had been a time when she could have easily survived the jump. To fall, transform, and then fire rockets, spread wings and skim the ground instead of crashing, land gracefully and drive away. It was an exhilarating and impressive stunt, and she only knew one other Autobot who could do it. Now, he was the only one.

“I've got to get over there.” Had the Seeker clones known the other Decepticons were coming? Was Ramjet a prisoner still? 

“Oh, we're totally safe in here,” Ramjet observed bitterly. What type of procedures did Autobots have regarding treatment of prisoners while the prison was being blown all to the pit, not that Kranix 's doom saying was rubbing off on him.

The door at one end of their block had blown right out of its frame, and soon after it felt and sounded like something struck the roof. The crazies were getting crazier.

“Now is the time, Friend,” Swindle called from across the corridor. “What say we get out of here?”

Sunstorm seemed to look in Swindle's direction, but he looked past him, or at nothing. He needed to get out, now, before the walls caved in on him!

“Oh, I have a really good feeling about this. Don't do anything too brilliant, Sun-” Ramjet's warning was cut off by the hiss and crackle of Sunstorm launching himself into the force bars.

Sunstorm absorbed as much of the energy as he could, but there was enough generated that it hurt, and he felt his systems flickering as his surge protectors struggled to divert what was not absorbed.

This was bad. It was not working, Ramjet thought. The force bars looked different where Sunstorm made contact, but Sunstorm did not look good. His optics were over bright and there was smoke and a scent like ozone coming through the uppermost gaps and seams in his armor. Ramjet did the only thing he could think of: he launched himself into Sunstorm as hard and fast as he could.

The two Seeker clones both passed through the bars where they were weakened. Ramjet felt a strong shock, but it was not enough to deactivate any systems, fortunately. They tumbled to the floor. Sunstorm pushed Ramjet off him and climbed to a standing position. He was storing too much, he had to release the energy.

“Fire in the hole!” Vortex shouted and pulled Swindle back against the farthest wall of their cell.

Skywarp was just entering the block from the south when he got a clear view of Sunstorm. Millicycles later the corridor was filled with light. There was following a sound like a terrible wind. The accompanying shock wave threw Ramjet into the north end of the corridor, obliterated the force bar projectors on the nearest six cells, and caused varying degrees of damage to prisoners and cells, depending on their proximity.

Having released the energy, Sunstorm himself seemed immune to its effects, or else had the ability to direct the blast away from himself. He had released enough energy to stabilize his systems, but he was still not entirely in his right mind, his emotional subroutines being still affected. He though only of escaping the prison. He ran south, shoving Skywarp out of his way without a word or glance of recognition, and then rushing past the big mech following.

Skywarp steadied himself and observed the chaos. Lugnut was in the cell just to his left, with bars intact. “You!” he said.

Skywarp shied from the cell. The big mech following him approached and seemed to intentionally put himself between Lugnut and Skywarp. Skywarp knew had had to deal with that one, but right now, he saw that Sunstorm had run south, while Ramjet was on his feet again and crashing through the door to the north. How he managed that, Skywarp did not know.

'Aster-1, you read me?' Skywarp commed.

'Yes. Busy. Did you find them?'

'Sunstorm sorta blew up and then ran away, and Ramjet just crashed through a door.'

'Repeat.'

'There was a flash and then FWOOOM and Sunstorm ran outta here like an over-energized turbofox. Then, Ramjet got up, crashed through a blast door and just kept on going. I am going to go after Sun. RJ is heading in your direction.'

'2. Team Chaar is here. Cyclonus is with them. We need to regroup soon, even if you do not have Sunstorm.'

'Acknowledged. Aster-2 out.'

Red Alert ran from the converted warehouse, as she exited in the front, the prison was blocked from her view. She opened a comm channel to Ironhide, a team member she hoped might be close enough to help.

“Hey, Red,” Ironhide greeted her jovially.

“'Hide, there's trouble. Has there been any word? Are you in the southwest quadrant?”

“The prison? I just heard Team Chromia was sent out there. Something about an attempted break-out.”

Red Alert was at the corner of the building, almost back in view of the prison. She knew some of the members of Chromia's team. They were an excellent security team, but as with many others, members of the team were selected with thought to making a well-rounded team, rather than one that specialized in a particular function. Another medi-bot would be welcome, and techs had their uses, but what they really needed was more front line fighters.

“Ironhide, it's bad. If you know anyone, any frontliners, and you don't have orders otherwise...”

“I understand. Don't you worry. Brawn and I are heading to you now; we'll comm others on the way.”

“Be advised, Decepticons got through the air defenses and are trying to break-out those in the prison. Looks like all of Team Chaar, three others I do not recognize...and at least four Seekers. There are Autobots still inside, plus some north of the complex.”

Ironhide acknowledged and dropped the connection to call others.

Red Alert was fully in view of the Prison again, and she saw nurse-bots running from the rubble-strewn entrance on the north face of the admin wing. The three Decepticons she did not know descended to harry the nurses. Red Alert could hear sirens that might indicate Chromia's team was close, but the nurse-bots did not have time to wait. Red Alert transformed and raced toward the Decepticons, sirens wooping and lights flashing.

“Where's Red?” Ramjet demanded.

Slipstream looked up from the terminal, angry with herself for being surprised. It was probably not the best time to inform Ramjet that his fellow clones had abducted his intended in order to plot his rescue. “I don't know that.”

“Did you do all this? Where's Starscream?!”

“He's dead!” Slipstream felt bad, as if speaking another word would cause her vocalizer to break, as if her circuits were somehow undone, as if she'd ingested some low-grade fuel that caused her engine to seize; yet none of those things actually described the feeling at all. “Sorry you didn't get the memo.”

Ramjet could not even process Starscream being dead. There was just too much else going on. Why wasn't Slipstream as mocking as usual? There was no sharpness to her tone, even though she made the attempt. She seemed down in the shard, like Sunstorm. “Are you all right?”

“Why aren't you just lying?”

“I don't lie all the time,” Ramjet said. This confused Slipstream of course, because it sounded like something one who did lie all the time might say.

There was no more questioning, as the hole in the ceiling allowed two Decepticons to drop into the ward. One was obviously Cyclonus, not only because they had access to Starscream's memory of so many faction rosters and files, but because the pale purple Decepticon still bore marks of losing a battle to Thundercracker. He had no helmet, which exposed the two tall antennae either side of his head, and his torso showed rough weld lines, where his repair systems had not yet been able to fully restore the armor. The other, darker, with transparent domed helmet was Oil Slick.

“Med-bay, excellent, should be some interesting items here.”

“We are here to free our Decepticon comrades from Autobot imprisonment,” Cyclonus said. He looked to Slipstream.

“Lost something?” she asked, tapping a claw-tip at her own helm.

At that same moment, Ramjet threw himself at Oil Slick and knocked him to the floor. Slipstream took a shot at Cyclonus, but he proved fast enough to evade, and escaped into the corridor. “Could ya have given me any less warning?” Ramjet asked in biting tone. Even with comm systems disabled, he had been able to visually interpret most of Slipstream's quick flash, warning that they were enemies. “Guess I missed the memo about us being Autobots now.”

“We're not slagging Autobots!” Slipstream said, her own biting tone returned. “Watch him.”

“Really? I had no idea. It's not like I have the exact same files!”

Slipstream reached behind her back, thinking to retrieve her stasis cuffs, but decided she did not want to part with that pair. She took one from a drawer in the med-bay's administrative area, instead. She came from behind the island of workstations and fit the cuffs on Oil Slick.

“I don't suppose you know how to reactivate my systems?”

“I got enough data from the terminal here,” Slipstream lied. She knew, because she had taken the information from Ramjet's intended.

Red Alert stood outside, with two Autobots from Team Chromia. First Aid was a medi-bot she knew well from their time training and interning together under Ratchet. Glyph was a small blue femme, one of the mini-bot models, and the team's specialist in communications and information technologies. The other three, Chromia, Override and Flareup were facing off against the three Decepticons of unknown designation.

Override, a magenta and white racing-model, was expert in servo-to-servo combat and stunt driving. She was battling the red and black Seeker.

Flareup, who fought with flamethrowers, much as Hot Shot, was a red cycle-model. She was holding-off a silver and purple Decepticon with slender wings.

Chromia, their leader, armored in pale blue, was also a cycle-model, though she favored a partial transform mode in which she could stand upright on one tire. She danced one-wheeled between the legs of the large gray and purple Decepticon and tripped him with the length of chain she wielded.

“Any Autobots still inside the prison, please respond!” Glyph said aloud, even as she commed.

“Try Primax 1085.28 Alpha,” Red Alert suggested. She tuned to the same frequency and encryption scheme.

“Clamp Down, or any Autobots inside prison, this is Glyph of Team Chromia, do you read me?”

'Smokescreen here,' Smokescreen replied, 'Clampdown and I are in the Max Security section. We are locked in, with prisoners still in confinement, but Strika and company are nearly through the first door.'

“Maximum is in the northeast part of the complex, there is no other entrance, except through the Admin wing. That must be where Strika is trying to gain access.”

'We are sending help, hold tight, we're with you.'

“There's no one else to send,” Red Alert whispered. Maybe, just maybe Team Chromia could handle the strange Seeker and two apparent triple-changing Decepticons, but that left all five members of Team Chaar inside the prison, plus any prisoners outside maximum that may have escaped. And, Red Alert had no idea what the Seeker clones were doing, whose side they were on, or if she could trust them any more than the other Decepticons. Their leader had mentioned having battled Decepticons as well as Autobots, but the enemy of one's enemy was not necessarily a friend. They might just be a meddling third party out for themselves.

“I'll go,” Red Alert said.

“Then, I'll go as well.” Glyph saw Red Alert's surprise. “If you are willing, can I do less?” It was one of those ritual sayings known to Cybertronian soldiers, like declaring willingness to fight and die rather than flee, promising to make a stand, or claiming one did not wish to live forever.

“On your honor be it,” Red Alert responded.

The two walked toward the blown-open entrance.

Ramjet ran through the corridor between the med-bay and the common rooms, where prisoners were taken to wash, exercise or labor. Unknowingly, he passed Thundercracker, who was searching the labor area for allies or foes. Ramjet continued on, finding the door to the administrative wing already open. He had not been in this part of the complex since he was first brought in, but he did remember this was where they had taken his weapons, where he had met the Warden, and also where an exit should be.

“Ramjet!”

“Red!” Ramjet saw Red Alert, a small turquoise Autobot, and some Decepticons at the distant end of the corridor. He raised the one gun he had on his left arm, and aimed toward Glyph.

Red Alert recognized Slipstream's colors on the arm-mounted null ray. If Ramjet was loose, and Slipstream in the building without him, she probably wasn't doing anything to help the Autobot cause. 'Glyph,' Red Alert commed, 'Warden's office, just to the west, check the prison data and security systems for interference!'

'But you -'

“Leave this one to me.”

Ramjet saw Glyph dash to one side, and did not fire. “I do not want to fight you, Red, but I don't want to be a prisoner.”

“I know.”

“But it's your job to keep me here.”

That was not specifically true, as she was medical staff, but there would be questions if it was obvious she did nothing to prevent an escape. “I know.”

“You should leave. It is not safe.” Ramjet hesitated before continuing, saw Red looked troubled. “We could go somewhere.”

“No,” Red Alert said firmly. She looked up and met his gaze. “I can't do that now, Ramjet.”

He hadn't really thought she would, but he had hoped. Yet, Red has said 'now', so there was a chance she would be willing to go somewhere with him, at another time. “I -” Ramjet broke off just as Red Alert gasped, trying to suck air through her intake too quickly. Their motion and proximity sensors both detected the same danger. Ramjet pushed Red Alert against the north wall and shielded her with his body.

The slimy projectile missed them both, but just barely. Ramjet's engine roared, he trained his sensors and targeting systems on the big, squat Decepticon armored walker. He still did not understand what was going on. First he's following Starscream, then Megatron, then he's arrested, and now Starscream is supposedly dead, and his fellow clones are fighting Autobots and Decepticons alike. It was just impossible to process. He did not have enough data to satisfy his logic circuits. But, one thing he knew with absolute certainty was that some mech had just deliberately endangered his intended.

Ramjet committed to permanent memory the feel of Red's round digits clinging to the barest part of his arms, even as he tore himself away from her. “No frog is going to slobber on my princess!” he warned Spittor, and then flew at him, thrusters increasing his speed and thus the coming impact velocity. Ramjet kicked his legs around just as he reached Spittor and kneed the Decepticon in the side of his alt-mode's trap-like mouth. He continued, quickly kicking his feet toward Spittor's to singe his wide mouth and prehensile tongues with thruster burn, which simultaneously gave him purchase to launch himself into a backflip.

Facing Spittor again, Ramjet fired max-setting null ray blasts down his slime-producing gullet. Spittor seized and toppled awkwardly forward, tongue cables and slime spilling onto the floor. “I'm sure that's not the worst case of indigestion you've ever had,” Ramjet said mock sincerity.

Red Alert's alarm sounded: woo woo woo. Embarrassed, she shut off the siren. She saw Ramjet looking at her so curiously.

“Oh, now's a great time to be drawing attention!”

Red Alert couldn't help it. Sometimes she just got so excited, so hyper and high-strung, as when she was a youngling; everything had set off her alarm. She was aware her dating subroutines were logging Ramjet's assets and flaws. In the worthiness calculation table there were two flaws listed: Decepticon, and doesn't like blue optics. Right now the subroutine was adding to his assets: very suitable protector, and avenged me upon Spittor.

“Ramjet, I'm sure the other Seeker clones came for you and Sunstorm. If you go, you can find them. I won't notice.” 

“As I was trying to say,” Ramjet said as he approached, “I am not leaving you here unless I know you will be safe.”

Red Alert shook her head. “Someone I want to protect, an Autobot, is trapped inside the maximum security block, trying desperately to keep Strika and Blackout from reaching Megatron and Shockwave.”

“You said Smokescreen was nothing.”

“No, I don't mean in that sense. The Warden -'

“The Warden?!”

“He's just...he's one of the Autobots who created me. I know it is not the custom of all Cybertronians to have sentiment for the ones who created them, but I feel a kind of love for him. We have always remained in contact. For a very long time we lived in the same household.” Red Alert looked up defiantly, “Even if I had no duty to the prison, I would do all that was in my power to help him!”

“Then, I guess today I fight Decepticons.”

“But you don't have to! You could be free, now!”

Ramjet shook his head, then straightened and looked along the corridor to where the two large Decepticons were battering the door. “If Clamp Down is kin to you, how can you find me worthy of your attention, if I do not give aid when he is in dire need?” Ramjet asked seriously, “He gave you life, contributed codes that make you what you are; he would not wish you harmed any more than I. I will do what I can to protect you both, for now.”

“I truly appreciate this, Ramjet,” Red Alert said. “I will not forget it.”

As Red Alert and Ramjet moved along the corridor, Swindle spied from around the corner. Vortex was watching his back. They had gotten past what few 'troopers still functioned, while they were occupied with other escaped prisoners. “The kid's distracted the nurse for us,” he whispered.

“Time we weren't here,” Vortex said.

“Don't say that, Partner. You do want your rotor blades back? One more stop.”

Vortex was sure Swindle's greed would get the better of him, again, in the future, but it was true he wanted his blades. He felt non-functional without them. And, he wouldn't mind recovering his glue gun.

Dirge was in the storage room still, when Swindle and Vortex entered. He knew them only from information in his pre-installed memory. Swindle was barely a Decepticon, despite his brand, and more of an arms dealer of questionable allegiance. Vortex was a Decepticon, but not particularly loyal to any one leader; he usually hired out his services to whichever group had need of an interrogator or some enemy prisoners.

“Looks like this kid beat us to it,” Vortex said.

Swindle hated when anyone beat him to a score. “Hand over the weapons, kid,” he said menacingly.


	12. Cavalry

“We just don't have the weapons to take down these 'Cons,” Chromia said, with uncharacteristic defeat. Even as she spoke, she heard the immediately recognizable sound of Autobots braking and then transforming. She caught an excited look from Flareup, who was facing the opposite direction, as they both rushed about in their evasive maneuvers.

“You have my ax,” a friendly voice said.

“And my bow!”

Chromia spun around and saw the two Autobot team leaders, as their subordinates rushed from behind to face the Decepticons. Chromia heard Flareup calling to them excitedly. “Watch out for the triple-changers. The one here has a flamethrower.”

“Optimus Prime, Rodimus Major,” Chromia said happily, “glad you have you with us. And, congratulations on your promotion, Sir.”

Rodimus laughed. “Apparently almost dying is only good for a single rank promotion.” There was a rumor that heroic deactivation would earn a posthumous two-rank promotion.

“What is the situation?” Optimus asked. “Is Megatron still captive?”

Chromia understood Optimus was the very one who had defeated the infamous Decepticon leader. He was pretty popular on Cybertron, right now. Maybe stealing a bit of Rodimus's usual limelight. But, the Prime and Major seemed to already be happily working together, so there could be no animosity. Maybe Rodimus was as great a mech as some said.

Chromia's frontline military programming overrode her interest in very attractive and heroic mechs. “Yes, Sir. As I understand it, these three here are known as Team Titan and either Thrust or Astrotrain is in charge. We've been doing our best to hold them off, but Override took some damage. All of Team Chaar is present. I had a comm that Oil Slick is captured. My tech, Glyph has reached the Warden's office and is attempting to gain control of the security, monitoring and data systems. Megatron is in Max Security, as is Shockwave. Warden Clamp Down and Smokescreen are defending that location. I am uncertain what happened to Spittor and Cyclonus, but I last heard that Strika and Blackout were still trying to break into Max. There are also a number of Seeker clones here, we think they are the ones that allowed prisoners to escape in cell blocks 2 and 3.”

“How many Seeker clones?”

“Well, not counting Thrust, who looks to be a slightly different model, there are somewhere between four and six, I think.”

“And Red Alert?” Rodimus asked.

“Entered the building with Glyph, but after that I am not fully certain. Glyph reported that they encountered one of the Seekers, and Red commed her privately to check the data and security systems. Glyph made it to the office and found that the system was being hacked from another terminal, so she figured Red Alert suspected that somehow. I apologize for the lack of information. Glyph only has partial access and control right now.”

“What are your orders, Prime?” Rodimus asked.

Optimus quickly considered the information. He had only recently gotten accustomed to leading his own crew. Though he was now the highest ranking Autobot on site, he was not practiced at coordinating multiple teams. However, he had viewed many historical records explaining strategies used by Autobots and Decepticons in the Great War. His fascination with history that some mocked might prove useful now. “My crew can handle these three,” Optimus said, thinking that now, there were only three others. Jazz, who had been with them temporarily, had duties to the Cyber Ninjas; Arcee and Omega needed time to sort out some personal business; Sari was a valued ally, but not someone he considered in his command; and Prowl had somehow received that posthumous promotion to Minor, despite the fact that he had previously dodged guard recruitment.

“Rodimus, take your team and go in after Team Chaar. I understand you've been wanting some payback, anyway.”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Chromia, I see your medi-bot teammate is tending to Override. Take Flareup and establish a defense perimeter from the warden's office outward. As soon as we can subdue these three, my crew will join you in expanding the perimeter and recapturing as many escaped prisoners as we can find.”

“Sir!” Chromia said enthusiastically.

“Roll out!” Optimus ordered. He saw Rodimus and Chromia call orders to their teams, as he extended the staff of his ax and went to join his own crew. 

Inside the administrative wing, Dirge and Swindle were still arguing over the prisoners' effects, which Dirge had stolen from storage. “We don't have time! I just heard a whole fleet of Autobots drive up!” Vortex told them.

“They are my things! I found them! It was my mission!”

“Listen, Kid, you're a Decepticon, right? Like Ramjet and Sunstorm,” Vortex said, knowing that in his present mood, Swindle was incapable of putting on his show of doing everyone a favor by ripping them off. He was just going to be mean, until he got what he wanted.

“You know my brothers?”

“Sure, we do. Now, come with us. You don't want to fight all those Autobots alone? Let's all make a run for it and find a nice little hidey-hole where we can discuss this like civilized mechs.” And if the kid didn't cooperate, Vortex would rip the blades right out of his subspace, or wherever he was hiding the loot, and make him a really persuasive argument.

“All right,” Dirge said slowly. Maybe these two would be his allies. He wanted more allies. “Yes, let's all go somewhere together.”

Vortex and Swindle both hesitated half a klik and looked to each other, thinking the same thing: Why am I suddenly afraid this kid is even worse than I am?

“I like your eyes,” Dirge said sweetly as he passed by Swindle. “I don't have purple eyes.”

Swindle tried to laugh disarmingly, but this kid had already seen his mean side. Why am I thinking he meant to add 'yet'?

The three escaped into the hall. Vortex ran to the rubble-strewn entrance first. “We gotta make a fast break! There's at least ten Autobots right outside!”

Swindle leaned out the jagged entrance to look for himself.

“Dirge!”

Dirge looked down toward the voice and saw Scalpel skittering quickly toward his right foot. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

“Red,” Scalpel chirped as he climbed up Dirge's leg.

Dirge looked along the corridor and saw Ramjet and Red fighting with Blackout. “My brother!”

“Kid! Forget him! He's crazy about the nurse. He won't just leave.”

Dirge let Scalpel crawl into his cockpit. Scalpel was not his in the sense of a belonging, but Dirge understood having did not always mean possessing a tangible thing. He could have Scalpel's assistance, or his allegiance. Scalpel was an ally who could provide Dirge with lots of service and knowledge. Dirge understood this value diminished if taken by force, as opposed to being given over freely or in trade. He was a clone of a brilliant Seeker, after all.

So, he knew that Ramjet was still his brother, even if not in Dirge's current keeping. Maybe it really was best to go with these other two. They might have things to offer of which Dirge was not yet aware. He might get the most reward if he helped them escape. Dirge pulled the set of rotor blades he had taken from Vortex's storage bin, from his pocket dimension. “You will probably need these to make it out of here,” he said, and gifted Vortex with the blades.

“Thanks, Kid,” Vortex said. “Hey, Swindle, quick, help me put these on.”

Begrudgingly, Swindle agreed. He and Vortex had been in a few worse scrapes together, and he knew how to handle basic repairs on the helicopter. Vortex was going to owe him, though.

Thundercracker was disgusted after finding the labor area of the prison complex. It had been obvious from the supplies and equipment that Decepticon prisoners labored like slaves for filthy Autobots. Laundering polishing cloths! Stamping custom ID plates! Providing comm-marketing service for manufacturers of sportscar mods! Unworthy tasks for warriors. Yes, perhaps a soldier out in space had need to maintain his own appearance and should thus have clean polishing cloths, even it meant doing laundry, but not for others!

And here, in this communal wash facility. No privacy or recognition of status. Just nozzles and cheap generic detergents and solvents. Still, it would be advantageous to wash, especially as he still had that cursed door-wingers clinging smoke particles clogging some of his sensors. His regalness was hidden by smoky smudges. He could be very quick, and then go find the others.

Thundercracker looked about for foes or onlookers, and seeing none, approached a set of nozzles and programmed an appropriate wash cycle. He turned slowly as the nozzles conveyed the programmed order of various sonic, gaseous and liquid cleansing methods.

As Thundercracker was enjoying his rinse cycle, his unclogged sensors detected an approaching Decepticon energy signature. He quickly drew one of his swords from his wing mounts and turned in the direction of approach. Some blue mech he did not immediately recognize walked into the wash room and looked at Thundercracker standing in the spray.

“Cyclonus?”

Thundercracker stalked from the area of spray and glared hatefully at Scourge, whom he now recognized from Starscream's memory, though he had never considered him worthy of attention or thought before. “You dare approach my regal personage and compare me to that scrapping slaarg?” Thundercracker demanded.

“Uh, it's just, in the steam, you looked a little like Cyclonus.”

Thundercracker scoffed. He was, admittedly, wearing Cyclonus's former helm, but it looked better on him, and he'd won the trophy fairly. “Are you some minion of that malfunction?”

“I am no one's minion!” Scourge said arrogantly. “I, Scourge, am a renown huntsmech and ultimate warrior who has served the cause...” He would have continued, if Thundercracker allowed it.

“Your appearance offends my optics,” Thundercracker declared. He waved the claws of his free hand before his faceplate to indicate the particular extensions Scourge wore decorating his otherwise bland visage. “You look like some mech's counterpart from an alternate dimension, or like you want others to think your Circuit-Su is strong. Ridiculous.” It was not that Thundercracker was opposed to all such decoration; perhaps, he thought, he might even program his self-repair nanites to maintain a modest stripe to highlight his well-proportioned chin; not that he would do it in imitation of Megatron, he was better than Megatron; it would look even better on him, not that he truly needed embellishment.

“Who are you to judge?” Scourge demanded egotistically.

“I am Thundercracker, glitch!” 

A klik later Scourge was slumped against the solvent resistant tile of the washroom, head hurting and processor addled nearly to the point of going into involuntary stasis.

“The scrap that passes as Decepticon in these times,” Thundercracker said quietly. He realized then that, as Scourge had interrupted his wash cycle, he had been unable to dry his plating in timely fashion. Thundercracker gave Scourge a swift kick in the midsection. “You oaf! Now you've made me dry all spotty!”

Slipstream had risked diving into the system. It meant her shell was mostly unaware of her surroundings, but the sacrifice allowed her to act more quickly that typing commands at a prompt or even sending commands via her i/o cable, while maintaining outer consciousness. She knew her opponent was Glyph, though she didn't have any perception of who Glyph was. She could make an educated guess that Glyph was an Autobot trained in information warfare.

If Slipstream perceived her own actions as alike to a fluid intelligence, Glyph was like a some fabled magic spell or word of power. It was as if the characters representing numerals, sounds and concepts were living pawns in waging war against Slipstream. She – Slipstream thought of Glyph as being a femme – was good.

A fluid intelligence could be at risk against a word like 'ice' for example, unless the fluid could quickly have a known temperature above freezing, or a change in chemical composition that resisted conversion to a solid state.

But all of this was perceived illusion for their actions. Slipstream had taken what she needed from the system before Glyph's interference, and deleted what she did not want known, but she understood that someone as skilled as Glyph might just be able to puzzle data back together without benefit of allocation data that tracked the random spread of data particles across storage media. And, the longer she remained to resist Glyph from within the system, the longer Glyph did not have full access to remaining functional security camera and sensors to relay to others where Decepticons or other escaped prisoners were positioned.

The outside world suddenly came into being as Slipstream was forcibly removed from the dive. There was an intense nanocycle of sensory overload and the world seemed to flex and warp about her. Slipstream staggered; her processor unable to control her physical body for some small increment of time that felt way too long.

She realized Thundercracker was there. Angry.

Not that she was happy. “Never do that!” she told him. “Do know what could happen? What if I got stuck in there?”

“You are the one acting foolish. I walked up to you without you sensing anything! You were in here completely unguarded. That loser was wriggling his way over to the chemical storage cabinet!”

Oil Slick? She had been so certain he was under control.

“Get a hold on yourself!” Thundercracker ordered. “You should not have taken such a risk. You endangered yourself! It was incomprehensibly stupid of you, Slipstream.”

Slipstream did not really know if Thundercracker was right. “I thought it was worth the risk. I thought I could control everything.”

“You cannot control everything!”

“It was a tactical error. I let my emotions get the best of me. I was too confident. Like -”

Thundercracker knew. He knew the challenge they all faced. He knew Slipstream was attempting to suppress her emotions with reason. But, yes, it had been utterly stupid to risk herself without need. “We will discuss this later, but now, we need to get out of here.”

Slipstream realized then, regaining focus, that Thundercracker was remarkably clean, even if his finish looked a bit spotty. “I'm taking stupid risks? And you stopped in the enemy prison to take time to wash?”

“There was no risk of me dying and causing my kin to grieve!” Thundercracker said angrily.

Slipstream withdrew from Thundercracker and shook her head as if to refuse to think on what he said.

“Focus!”

“I am focused!”

Thundercracker vented heated air. “We need to get out of here and locate the others. It is not our fault this mission has become so complicated. There was no way we could know that Team Chaar was going to plan a prison break for the very same time and place.”

“Unless maybe Scalpel has been a spy.”

Thundercracker considered it, trying to keep emotion from his calculation. “It is proper of you to mention the possibility, however, I do not think that is the case. I believe, base on observation at the time we encountered Team Chaar, that Skywarp and I were only secondarily targets. Scalpel truly wanted to escape them.”

“Or they wanted you to think so.”

“Very well, being information officer, you watch him and let me know what you find. But we have to find him first. Have you heard from any of them?”

“I saw Ramjet briefly. I restored his comm and weapons systems, but he seemed only concerned with Red Alert. Thundercracker, I do not think we will be able to convince him to come with us.”

“I tried comming Skywarp, but he has not answered.”

“I tried comming earlier, but I thought he was just ignoring me because he was busy with the mission and not free to speak. Maybe he's somewhere that he fears his transmissions could be intercepted.”

“He said something about Sunstorm and an explosion and going after Sunstorm.”

“We'll look for him, for all of them. This is probably our best exit.” Slipstream indicated the hole in the ceiling.

“Prime!” Bumblebee shouted, seeing the two Seekers fly overhead.

“Let's go after them!” Sari said excitedly, “You and me, with jetpacks.”

Optimus retracted his battle mask and smiled down at Sari. “The jet pack has proven useful, but those Starscream clones are fast and agile, even compared to other Decepticons. We'll have to contact the Elite Guard and ask if Jetfire and Jetstorm can fly after them.” 

“What do we do with these guys?” Bulkhead asked. They had subdued the Decepticons designated Thrust, Astrotrain and Octane.

“Our priority is to help the Autobots here and to recapture any Decepticons on site. We'll have to leave these three in Override's watch, while we make contact with Chromia's team. Once we secure the cell blocks, I am sure there will be room for a few more guests.”

Rodimus was having mixed feelings about the way the present mission was going. On the up side, his team was back to five strong, plus one. On down side, the plus-one was a Decepticon Seeker, formerly incarcerated in the very prison, and who apparently had found a way to rearm himself.

“What do we think about 'Cons saying they want to join our side?” He had called out to the team.

“Don't trust them,” Ironhide said.

“Decepticreeps,” Brawn said.

“Always ends badly,” Hot Shot said.

Ramjet, who hardly understood any Autobot said something to Red Alert in a sharp tone. She spoke back to him in Decepticon, which sounded harsh and ugly to the Autobots. Red Alert had always been Rodimus's go-to 'Bot when he needed to politely ask an enemy for information, but he didn't like the way Red and the Seeker seemed to always be consulting each other, or the fact that when Red translated, she somehow gave them the meaning in one sentence, when she and Ramjet had just had an entire conversation.

“He knows what 'Decepti-something' sounds like,” Red had informed them.

Another good thing was that Chromia had commed to say that Glyph now had full control of the prison systems. The bad news was that Chromia and Flareup had reached the med-bay, where Glyph had traced the intrusion, but no one was at the terminal.

When Rodimus had relayed that news to his troops, Red had another long conversation with Ramjet, and then said, “Slipstream, she's the violet and teal femme. She must have taken off.”

Other seemingly positive news was that Oil Slick was confirmed to be captured, but the negative aspect was that Chromia had found him already in stasis cuffs.

Again, another long, suspiciously friendly exchange between Red and Ramjet, after which she said, “Ramjet took him down, but don't ask him why, because he honestly doesn't know.” Sure, he had, because Ramjet had taken down Spittor as well.

“That totally makes sense,” Hot Shot had added, smartly, at which Red and Ramjet both laughed.

They had managed to do serious damage to Blackout and Strika, and though neither was down for the count, as it were, that was actually the good news. The flip side was that right now, instead of being nearly down two Decepticons, they were up four. And up, when it came to number of Decepticons, was definitely a bad thing. Galvatron's Team Thrull, plus a fugitive Blitzwing, had reached the main corridor of the admin wing.

Rodimus's team was pinned between two Decepticon forces. They had to defend on two fronts, which seriously reduced the extent to which they could concentrate an attack on any one foe. Whatsmore, Galvatron was using some Lithonian prisoner as a shield and hostage. The mech from Lithone had been imprisoned for offenses on Cybertron, but unlike Decepticons, Autobots were not at war with his people . Rodimus could not in good conscience intentionally harm the Lithonian, just to get a chance to take down Galvatron.

Optimus Prime came in through the broken entrance. “We got your back!” Bubblebee called from his side.

“You heard them, let's take these 'Cons down!” Rodimus called to his team.

Along the corridor, Ratchet used his electromagnets to lift Kranix from Galvatron's grasp. Sari flew into the air using her jet pack, and swiped at Scourge with her arm blades. The Decepticon laughed, seeing the blades missed, but behind her battle mask, Sari was holding in what would be the last laugh, as Bumblebee rolled across the floor on his back, using the wheels on his shoulders and legs, and stung Scourge from beneath as he passed between the larger mech's legs.

“Up high!” Sari said as Scourge yelped.

“Down low,” said 'Bee, as Scourge fell forward to the floor.

“Too slow!” the yellow 'Bots said together. As 'Bee hopped to his feet, they gave each other a high-five.

Galvatron, not impressed by kid-friendly 'Bots, saw Optimus charging with his rocket-powered ax, and immediately grabbed Cyclonus and threw him at the Prime. Optimus and Cyclonus both fell, and Galvatron took the opening and ran for the broken doorway.

“Is he crazy?” Bulkhead asked.

In answer, Galvatron growled and shoved at Bulkhead and ran past him.

“I'll get him!” Bulkhead called, and turning, launched his wrecking ball and struck Galvatron in the back.

Blitzwing, seeing Team Thrull defeated, attempted to make a run back toward the cell blocks, where he promptly ran into a chain held taught between Chromia and Flareup, and fell onto his back.

“Good teamwork, everyone,” Optimus said as he put a pair of stasis cuffs on Cyclonus. They sure did go through a lot of these cuffs, he thought.

“Good job, Team,” Rodimus said, at the other end of the corridor. Strika and Blackout had finally been subdued. Ironhide and Brawn took care of fitting the stasis cuffs to the Decepticons. “Now let's see if we can get this door open and reach Clamp Down and Smokescreen.

Ramjet should be able to get through the door, Red Alert thought, he was nigh indestructible when it came to collisions. When she looked, Ramjet was no longer there.

Hot Shot took a look at the door. He could see Smokescreen looking out from the tiny slot in the thick metal door that usually allowed guards to check that prisoners were not loose on the other side, before opening. “It looks like they managed to mangle the door enough that it can't swing open properly. Maybe I can get it loose with my torch.”

“Good thinking, Hot Shot,” Rodimus said. He looked to one side, and noticed Red was looking back along the corridor and that Ramjet was gone.

Hot Shot got the door open and Smokescreen and Clamp Down came out. Red Alert went to Clamp Down and embraced him. “I am so glad you are all right,” she said.

“I was worried when you didn't check in on time.”

“I'm fine,” Red Alert said.

“What's our status?” Clamp Down asked, “Did any prisoners escape?”

“We still need to make a sweep of the complex,” Rodimus said, “But it looks like things have settled down for the time being.”

“And with these 'Cons involved in the attack captured, you may even have more prisoners than you started with,” Hot Shot offered.

“I want to know how they did it? How did they know where to strike or how to access our systems?”

“It is my fault,” Red Alert said, stepping back from Clamp Down and lowering her head. “After I left last shift, they ambushed me. They got the information from me, against my will. I tried, but I could not stop them.”

“Did they hurt you?” Clamp Down demanded.

“Why didn't you say anything, Red?” Rodimus asked.

“I couldn't mention it when Ramjet was here.”

“What do you mean by that?” Rodimus asked. He already had decided he did not like Ramjet.

“It's all right!” Smokescreen said in disarming tone. “She's right. Ramjet was in block 2, with the prisoners suspected to be glitched. Red Alert was familiar with his case history, so she knew it would trigger him. Right, Red?”

“Yes,” Red Alert said quietly, “Ramjet is glitched.”


	13. Pointed Outlook

Clamp Down quietly tapped a data pad down atop his desk. He, Smokescreen, Red Alert, the three team leaders, and Glyph were present, while the other Autobots belonging to their teams were at work restoring function and order to the prison, and acting as guards, until the damaged autotroopers could be repaired. Fortunately, apart from the hole in the roof, they still had a functioning med-bay, full staff of nurse-bots and three trained medi-bots on site. Some of the new and recaptured prisoners also needed repair before they could be locked down.

“All teams have reported in, then? What are we looking at, finally? How many got out?”

Chromia gave Glyph a nod, as she had helped greatly by coordinating their movements and tallies. “Sirs,” Glyph said, “former prisoners known to have escaped: From block three: Prisoner designated Bomber Blast.” The Autobots understood this was not the prisoner's actual designation, but that they had been for whatever reason unable to determine the identity, and assigned him the default name parts for unidentified persons, for record keeping purposes. Glyph continued, “From block two: Prisoners designated Baby Blast, Vortex, Swindle, Ramjet, and Sunstorm. From block one: no escapees.”

“Six,” Clamp Down said in acknowledgment.

Glyph went on with the report. Among former prisoners to escape and also be recaptured there were four: Galvatron, Scourge, Blitzwing, Kranix. More had escaped than had been recovered; that would not look well in the report. Decepticons involved in attack and attempted break-out of prisoners, who had themselves been captured: including: eight, including Strika, Blackout, Spittor, Oil Slick, Cyclonus, Thrust, Astrotrain and Octane. That would look a little better in the report. Eight Decepticons, including General Strika.

Clamp Down motioned for Glyph to pause. “So long as there are enough cells to keep them separated, I want Strika, and Oil Slick put in Max. As well, transfer Galvatron, glitched though he is, over to Max, and Lugnut. Blackout, Spittor, Astrotrain and Octane should go to block three. There are larger cells in that wing. Transfer Blitzwing there as well. There should be enough secure cells to put Thrust, Cyclonus, Scourge and Kranix in block two, for now.”

“If I may,” Optimus said.

“Yes, Prime?”

“I realize 'Maximum', has, well, the maximum amount of security, but it worries me having Megatron, his top two lieutenants, the General of Destruction, the Emperor of Decepticons and a chemical and mechological weapons specialist all in one wing together.”

“I take no offense to that,” Clamp Down said, “In fact it worries me having so many Decepticons in this one prison. What happened today...I don't claim to be in the loop when it comes to war or politics, but I cannot imagine that we are not in some way making ourselves a target for loyal followers, or maybe even rival leaders in the Decepticon faction. And, for that matter, it must directly affect your work, out in space, defending the worlds where Autobots live.”

“I was thinking about that,” Rodimus said, looking at Optimus. “Without Megatron, or Strika, Shockwave, Galvatron, even Starscream for that matter, it has got to have a large impact on leadership within their ranks. Without fear of former in-faction rivals, the Decepticons holding out in the outer rim refugee colonies are going to want to expand their territory, possibly going as far as to raid Autobot colonies.”

“And if they've learned Ultra Magnus is on spark-support, they are going to consider Cybertron weak and this a good time to attack. Sorry, but Sentinel has not proven himself yet, not to the enemy. It's my job to know how the captured enemy combatants are thinking.”

“Ever since the AllSpark was rediscovered we have seen increased Decepticon activity,” Chromia said.

“We are going to have to report all of this to Sentinel and the Council.”

“Do you want to tell our acting-Magnus how the 'Cons think he has not proven himself much of a threat?” Rodimus asked. 

“So eager to pass on the task to me, Rodimus?” Optimus teased.

“Well, you are a rank above me.”

“I think I can find some way to tell him,” Optimus said, failing at suppressing a smile.

“There's still the matter of the Seekers,” Glyph said quietly.

“All managed to escape, correct?” Clamp Down asked.

“Yes. I accounted for Ramjet and Sunstorm among the prisoners to have escaped, but we know now that there were four other Seekers, all also being clones of Starscream, who participated in the attack and also escaped. They are designated Thundercracker, Skywarp, Slipstream and Dirge. Thundercracker is probably their leader.”

“And pretty highly ranked in the faction, now so many other Decepticons are captive,” Rodimus pointed out.

“So, that's six escaped, four re-captured, eight recently captured, and four just at large.” There was no way to make the report look good. As much as he might emphasize that he had eight new prisoners and had recovered four of ten escaped prisoners, there was still the fact that they had nine Decepticons loose on Cybertron, plus one blob-form organic with a penchant for licking.

“There is another one,” Red Alert said.

“Another?”

“You would not have noticed him. He is very small for a Cybertronian mech, rather like a symbiont to a bulk. Curious insect-like root mode, like something that crawled out of the Rust Sea. He is designated Scalpel.”

“That doesn't sound good,” Smokescreen commented.

“The Science Council would want him alive and intact.”

“That's enough for my report. Thank you, all. Optimus, would you mind assigning some duty shifts, while we wait to hear back from the Magnus and Guard? I know most of us need to recharge, but we do need to maintain a guard, especially as repairs are still underway.”

“No Problem,” Optimus said, “We're here to help.” He looked to the other team leaders. “Rodimus, Chromia, if you wouldn't mind discussing duty rotation?”

“Excuse me, Sir, I really need some time to recharge, I'll be in the med-bay, if you need me.”

“Yeah, take as much time as you need,” Rodimus told Red.

“I'm going to have to call in the descriptions so they can post alerts,” Clamp Down said, “Even before my report is complete. We cannot just leave the civilians on Cybertron unwarned.”

“It's going to be messy, but I think that's the best thing,” Smokescreen agreed.

Skywarp saw the alert flash on the billboard mounted to the building on which he perched. He, the big mech and Stormshadow – just for familiar company – were hiding out on the roof of one of the taller buildings in Iacon. He'd completely lost Sunstorm and decided the best he could do was hide, until he could figure out how to find the others. A roof seemed the logical choice, and especially on a tall building, because with only a handful of Autobots on the whole planet having flight ability, there was actually a good chance no one would spot them. And, heights was one thing of which Skywarp had never been afraid.

The billboard had been cycling through a loop of advertisements for sports car mods featuring some haughty blue Autobot, and images of emergency vehicles transforming into Autobots and going to drink a particular brand of oil together. Now Skywarp saw images of himself and others, he presumed were also Decepticons loose on Cybertron. “You see? You're there, too!” Skywarp said to the big mech. “They probably just flashed your name up there, but I can't read Autobot. And, did you see they captured an image of me looking full of trepidation on their grainy security cam. And Thundercracker spotty! He would be furious. Though, at least it means he's escaped, somewhere.”

“Roger.”

“We really need a name for you. What about Blackbomb, or Bombbomb, or Bombblast, or Blastbomb.”

Nothing.

“How about I just call you BB for short.”

“Roger.” It sounded enthusiastic.

“That's settled,” Skywarp said happily. “So, BB, are you following me around because I got you out of that cell, or do you just like purple and black?”

“Roger,” with a little bit of laughter.

“A little bit of both then.” Skywarp nodded. “I am cute, but you should know, my leader, Thundercracker, is a very strong Decepticon, and I am his 2IC. I'm very loyal. You understand?”

“Roger.”

“All right, just wanted to avoid any confusion. Maybe you could join us. If Thundercracker thinks you worthy, you might. I am going to just keep talking. I start to get anxious when I get bored. I try to fill my time with tasks. Thundercracker helped me discover how keeping busy could help me.”

“Roger?”

“Stormshadow? He's my doll. He's a holomatter projection created by my facsimile circuitry, though I customized him quite a bit. I taught him a few tricks that other avatars don't know.”

“Roger?”

“Oh, from Earth. He's ningen, from Nihon, which makes him Nihonjin, well, he's not actually from Japan at all, he's my avatar, but my cover story, which I am still working on, is that Stormshadow is from Japan. They have all the cutest things there. I mean, just look at his dress!”

“Roger.”

Skywarp nodded. “Yes, it probably is time I tried comming them again. Otherwise, I'll have to think of something to do, in order to find them. I think if we had access to a comm terminal with a hardline connection, or a transmitter with higher amplification we could reach them. The comms get too much interference in a city this size to have decent range. Though, if we had Autobot encryption algorithms and were careful what we said, it might be possible to use the Autobot relay towers without detection. They are definitely looking for us now.”

“Roger.”

“I see. Considering that, if we keep watching their public alerts, we might be informed of locations where other Decepticons are suspected to be. Then we could go find them.”

Slipstream detected the ping again. She had thought she heard it earlier, but had been uncertain. “I'm getting a signal on the channel Dirge usually uses with me,” she told Thundercracker. They were still in the southwest quadrant, moving slowly in their efforts to avoid detection. Slipstream was carrying the spare parts with her, again; they had retrieved them from the now-abandoned apartment.

“Did he say anything?”

“It's not actually Dirge. I think he's set up a homing beacon should I be in this area.”

“Could be a trap.”

It could. Dirge was in some ways more naïve than the rest of the clones, and he could definitely get distracted by his greed, but he was overall perceptive, analytical and intelligent. And, Slipstream liked to think, she had won his loyalty. “This way.” Slipstream indicated east. The pings sounded closer together as she neared the transmitter, and there was less distance for the signal to cover between being sent, received and confirmed.

The transmitter was in the alley beside the used mods shop, where Slipstream had frightened off an Autobot with her avatar. Within a bin of scrap, Slipstream found a compact holomatter projector, such as the type one would carry with a brief scene of friends, or a lover on a long away mission. She activated the device and a small-scale hologram of Dirge relayed a message:

“My Sister. I am well. I found myself two allies. Swindle, Vortex and myself are laying low for now. Use the device to give me a homing signal when the time is right. I left you some things in the bin. Don't worry, I kept plenty for myself.”

“No wonder Swindle and Vortex are with him, if he took all the prisoner effects, rather than just ones for Ramjet and Sunstorm. They are two of the most mercenary Decepticons.”

Slipstream subspaced the projector and then searched the bin.

“So, what did he leave?” Thundercracker suspected Slipstream was about to give a vague answer.

“Something he knew I would like...and weapons and belongings for Ramjet and Sunstorm. I'll take one of Ramjet's guns, since he's got one of mine. You want to help carry?”

“The leader does not do the carrying.” Thundercracker only kept very important things in his storage, like polishing cloths, cleaning solvents, paint for quick touch-ups – self repair systems got to the outer plating last – wax, an emergency weapon, an extra helm, tools for basic diagnosis and repair, and a moon rock Skywarp said looked like the shape of a petrorabbit. “Besides, I'm certain you found a way to expand into a transwarp dimension, or Dirge helped you.”

That was true. Slipstream made a shrug and pushed the items into her storage.

“What was that?”

“What?”

“What you just put into storage, like a jeweled thing and a large gun or cannon of some kind,” Thundercracker said impatiently.

“It's not for you.”

“I did not ask who it was for,” Thundercracker said irritably.

“It's just...” For a millicycle, Thundercracker thought she might give a straight answer. Then: “Whatever! Wouldn't you like to know!?”

“Yes. That is why I am asking – no – ordering you to tell me what Dirge gave you, and for what purpose.”

“It's nothing, really, just something...for the spare parts collection.”

Thundercracker knew very well what she meant by that. At this point, he was past being curious or annoyed, he was actually concerned. He shrugged at the idea that he was recently feeling concern for the 3IC, but if she was lost, their fledgling team would suffer, and he would not be seen as a strong leader. Yes, it was about how he looked, really. “He's dead.”

“Don't,” Slipstream whispered, “please, Thundercracker.”

“Ah, here comes the pathetic pleading. 'Don't shoot me, Megatron, it didn't mean it, please.' I actually thought you stronger than that, somehow.”

“I am strong!” Slipstream said defiantly.

“Say his name for me. Say it. Starscream. Starscream is deactivated. He is not coming back.”

“Please, you don't understand. You can't understand. It hurts too much.” Slipstream felt wretched again, like she would fall apart, or maybe implode; she couldn't tell.

Thundercracker was familiar with the ways in which their creator and fellow clones could lie, beg, flatter and cower to escape punishment. Sometimes, it rang quite false. Even a dullard like Megatron could likely tell. But, Slipstream really did look hurt, like when Skywarp had a panic attack. It might pass, and they might try to fight it, but it was very real to them. Slipstream really was suffering. “I do not understand this denial. I hope you can see yourself that this is all denial.”

“That's part of the problem,” Slipstream whispered. She could not even let herself think about it all. Just His name and she felt hurt and loss. And, she would see again...gray...could be any of them...but she knew who it was.

Maybe, Thundercracker thought, he really was concerned just for Slipstream. She did not look well. The light in her optics flickered and she seemed to sway, as when she had come out of that dive, not fully in control of her own shell. None of them should suffer like this. They were better. He was the best, their leader, but they were his, and they were special, elite. They should be doing terribly grand things, and flying fast, and not suffering. He reached out to Slipstream and put his claws lightly to her arms and drew her close.

She said nothing, but leaned weight into him. He did not feel entirely comfortable, but it was already done.

“It's not denial, not the way you think. I know about the deactivation. I know. He's dead.”

Thundercracker felt something he rarely if ever felt. Not fear of course, but something like dread or foreboding, perhaps. “Slipstream.”

“Yes...Sir?”

“Tell me you do not have some mad scheme to bring him back.”

Nothing. That was what he had been afraid of. Not, that he was actually afraid. Thundercracker pushed Slipstream from him, gently.

She stood, head tip a curious way, smiling. It was not the all but patented Starscream smirk of smugness, and it was not Skywarp's special smile. It was more an expression of amused knowing, which possibly looked more malevolent for the femme's painted lips. “Not afraid of my unworthiness tainting you?”

Slipstream was not the only one who could avoid a subject. “You said you knew a place to go.”

“Yes.” Slipstream was more stable, collected. And, though the pain and disorientation had been real, they had enabled her to avoid saying exactly what Dirge had left for her. “It's in the northeast quadrant, in the downtown area, but we should be able to access from the roof or lower levels without being seen. I'm fairly sure we can find Ramjet by going there, and have a chance to rest.”

First Aid saw Ratchet enter the med-bay and beckoned him to the admin desk overlooking the ward. “How are the patients?” Ratchet asked, as he reached the desk.

“The other prisoners were in condition to be moved to their cells, but Scourge, Black-out and Spittor are still here. There are a few Autotroopers still needing repair.”

“I can help with that.”

“I was hoping, Ratchet, if you don't mind, could you look at Scourge again? Your earlier diagnosis was correct. Though Bumblebee did some damage with his stingers, the worst damage was caused by the earlier head trauma. As you feared might happen, after you left, he burst a fuel line in his head and there was an energon leak near his processor. We had to open his cranial casing. Since you have a little more experience...”

“You don't need me to do this, First Aid. Besides, I have some less than pleasant memories regarding open processor surgery.”

“I will do the surgery myself, in that case. But, perhaps you might help another?”

“Blackout and Spittor are in a world of hurt, but they're stable.”

First Aid lowered the volume of his vocalizer. “It's Red Alert, she's still resting in exam three. I am a little worried about her. She respects you, so...”

“I will see what I can do, if she's willing to talk.”

Red Alert was lying on the exam table in room three. She had tried to recharge, but her processor was so active, trying to make some sense of recent events, that she found she could not maintain recharge mode enough to feel truly rested. She heard the knock and spoke to allow entry. Ratchet was there. She propped herself up and forced a smile.

“Having trouble recharging?”

“A little. No bad memory loops; I just have too much on the processor.”

“You feel like talking about it?”

“No. That is, I appreciate your concern, but my particular thoughts and feelings may be better discussed with someone else. Someone in particular.”

“So, not just feeling shaken after the attack? It happens to a lot of us, so it would not be unusual, if you did.”

“What is the saying? That medi-bots make the worst patients? I know the signs to watch for in someone else. I know the statistics. But, it's complicated, because I have some other things going on at the same time. Personal.”

“Always seems like the symptoms should all be explained by one all-encompassing diagnosis, but every once in a while, that is just not the case.”

“I don't know if what I am feeling is good or bad, or related to work, or just having been in battle, or something else. I think I will ask Rodimus if it would be all right for me to go home.”

“We don't always have the luxury, but in this case, I hope you are able to get some time. Red, we know that you were held by those Starscream clones.”

“I am not the first Autobot to be captured or hurt by Decepticons.”

“It's not special treatment if we would do the same for others in your position,” Ratchet said.

Red Alert gave a nod and then slipped from the table. “Thank, Ratchet,” She said as she walked from the room.

She found Rodimus near Clamp Down's office. “Sir,” Red Alert addressed her team leader.

“Hey, Red,” he said casually.

“Did you agree on duty shifts?”

“Yes, and you are not expected back here for a few days. Anyway, if we don't get the Starscream clones captured, I am certain the Science Council will want you somewhere else.”

“I understand, Sir.” She was the Seeker specialist, after all. The one who knew the code with which they were programmed, the one who had studied their roles in Cybertronian history and their culture.

“I do need you to submit a report, about what happened, as soon as you are ready.”

“I will get it to you within a decacycle.”

“Going home, then?”

“Yes, I am just going to say goodbye to Clamp Down.”

“Actually, he's left Override in charge for now. Optimus convinced him and Smokescreen to both go get some rest. You were recharging, so he did not want to disturb you. Listen, Red, do you mind if I drive you home? I was just about to leave; I am expected back here with the next shift.”

Everyone was watching out for her, but Red Alert knew Ratchet had been correct. When others suffered serious wounds, captivity, or were forced to deactivate another, she would recommend rest and spending time with trusted friends, in addition to any medical treatment.

“Sure. You know the area? It's right off the expressway.”

“I prefer the scenic route,” Rodimus said.

“That's right, you have a house with some friends, the 'energon farm' Hot Shot keeps calling it.”

Rodimus laughed as they left the building through the maze of sheet metal and wire that temporarily blocked the entrance that was still in need of repair. “It's not actually a farm, just a house on the outskirts, for us unattached 'Bots. Plenty of space to race, or practice archery.”

Red Alert transformed at the access road, and saw Rodimus do the same. His alt-mode was a dark red muscle car, heavily customized; his engine roared. They drove with Red Alert in lead, along the access road, she signaled at the intersection, near the place she had been abducted, that she would turn right.

'Go past the ramp up here.'

'Scenic route, then?'

'Of course!'

Red Alert knew the roads considered scenic, they ran along the outer limits of the city. In times of war, they would be a patrol route, but now, they were mainly favored by the sport and racing set who preferred to take the long way, at high speed, than go by the shorter paths through city traffic.

Red Alert chose a path through the south of Iacon to the outer roadways. Along these roads there were quaint stops with names like Drive 'n' Dine or Stop 'n' Sip.

It was a nice, drive, Red Alert thought. The road was quaint and scenic, but well maintained. She did not have the acceleration that Rodimus did in his alt-mode, but once she got up to speed, she could really haul.

'Feel like a race?' Rodimus asked, or taunted really.

'To where?' Red Alert asked. She knew Rodimus would not really take no for an answer in this; he'd probably win, too. It would still be fun.

'Maybe...' he paused, perhaps consulting the Iacon map in his nav system. 'Oh, Lookout Point.'

'All right,' Red Alert agreed, laughing a little. 'Ready?'

'I'll give myself a half-klik handicap.'

'No fair! And I was going to beat you fair and square!' Red Alert commed, pushing herself to accelerate just a bit more, even as she protested.

'Cheater!' Rodimus teased.

Red Alert raced ahead toward the remains of the defense post at the southeast border of Iacon. She fully expected Rodimus to speed past her, but she was first to reach Lookout Point, as the small commemorative park atop the old fort was called.

Red Alert transformed and walked to the edge of the raised metal mound, where a guard rail was placed to keep 'Bots from falling. She put her hands to the higher section of the railing and looked toward the city. It really was beautiful, like circuits coursing with energy, towers, streets and domes edged in light. It was not like in the midst of war, when the cities had been dark to impede bombers above from easily targeting, and energy had been strictly rationed to support the war effort.

Red Alert heard the familiar powerful engine and turned. Rodimus was there, in the midst of transforming. He waved lazily.

“You let me win,” Red Alert said as he came near.

“No, it's just I decided to stop and get something on the way.”

“Slow and steady wins the race?”

“Fair and square.” Rodimus offered a bag of energon goodies, evidently from his stop. “I got these for you.” His smile was so wide and amused.

“What?” Red Alert asked. She opened the bag and lifted one of the treats between her digits.

“You're kind of 'fair and square'. Boxy alt, but still nice to look at.”

Red Alert laughed, covering her mouth to keep from spitting energon. She swallowed awkwardly. “Thanks!”

“You been here before?” Rodimus asked.

“No. Hot Shot talks about us coming here, but I never have.”

“Yeah, you two seem to get along. You like him, huh?”

“As a teammate. It's not like fraternizing.”

“Well, it wouldn't be,” Rodimus said, as he leaned back against the rail. “You're peers in rank. But I wouldn't care about it, anyway. Soldiers need companionship, too.”

“Everyone does.” Then, Red Alert said, “sometimes, you can be a bit reckless for your rank.”

Rodimus shrugged and reached into the bag for a piece of energon, touching Red Alert's hand as he did. “So I am told. Mostly by our elders. Hey, if I almost-die one more time, I'll be Prime, then they'll really expect me to get serious!”

“But you can be serious, about some things? You did really well at the Academy, and in training.”

“Yeah, beat all the old scores, but the physical stuff just isn't difficult for me. Academics, though, I did have to put some effort into studying.”

“Modesty and humility being among your many virtues, I see.”

Rodimus laughed, maybe nervously. “Enough about me! How are you doing? Still not talking to Mr. Mods-model?”

Red Alert shook her head. “He's just never going to understand why I chose to reformat. I understand his opinion, but it is my life, and my choice to make. We used to be really close, all of us. Clamp Down understands somewhat more. Still, they make me feel so...pressured!”

“I understand completely, Red.”

She supposed Rodimus could understand. There was serious talk among Autobots that he would be a future Magnus, and lead the Autobots. He had charisma and talent. Maybe they were right. Maybe he could be a force to bring hope and change, if he was willing to take on the responsibility. “Rodimus, I really hope you...that you find your place. That you can find what makes you happy. You must feel pressured, the way that everyone talks, but you have to drive your own road, as they say. You may even get to the same place that they expect, but you have to find your own way.”

“I feel the same. I mean, I really do want you to be happy. You're a good friend, Red. It would be nice if we spent more time together.”

“Yes,” Red Alert said absently. Then, as background-running subroutines came to the fore, she said, “I appreciate you spending time with me, Rodimus; I really need friends I can trust right now. With everything that's gone on at the prison, I -I have some things to work out.”

“Yeah, if you need anything, I'm here. You can comm me, anytime.”

“Thanks. Would you like to drive me home? I think I would feel better in familiar surroundings.”

Rodimus agreed. The drive into the city was pleasant, but they hit traffic downtown and decided to transform and walk the rest of the way. Red Alert's apartment was in an old, tall building in the northeast quadrant. It had belonged to an Autobot artist known to her creators and who shared her original shell mold, so it fit her well. She had moved in very soon after her reformat, so it was now long familiar: home.

Rodimus walked Red Alert to the door. “Thanks for seeing me home,” she said, not really feeling like inviting Rodimus in.

“Yeah, it was -”

“And, I will get that report to you soon!” As soon as she figured out how to gloss over the fact that she had been spared due to the fact that their brother was courting her.

“Red, I -”

“I'll comm you, if I need anything.”

“Red -” He leaned close, in the space of a millicycle, Red Alert thought that if Ramjet were there, he would tear Rodimus apart. She did not want Rodimus to kiss her. She really wanted to kiss Ramjet. But, Rodimus straightened suddenly, gave her a tight smile and said, “Hey, Springo, what's up?” Red Alert knew of Springer only as the mech Rodimus got into sticky situations with, whenever he was on leave. He always came back with some wild story.

Rodimus looked to be having a private comm conversation, facial expression changing as their conversation continued, but not speaking so that Red Alert could hear. After a short while, he turned back to Red Alert. “It's Springer. He's in a jam, and he needs my help...”

“Then you have to go to him.” Red Alert smiled. “I'm safe now. I am on my own doorstep. I will comm you.”

“Thanks, Red! He's kinda...well, I gotta go!”

Red Alert watched Rodimus leave, then turned to her door. As she unlocked the various locks, she thought that it really was true she wanted to kiss Ramjet. She was not sure if Decepticons even had kissing, but even so, she acknowledged that the electro-chemical' shell-deep, physical attraction was definitely present. She was not certain yet what she felt in her spark, except uncertainty.

Red Alert opened the door and walked into her apartment. “Slipstream!” The femme Seeker was sitting on her bench in her parlor, drinking her energon.

Red Alert could not decide whether not inviting Rodimus into her apartment would turn out to be the best idea, or the worst idea she'd ever had.


	14. Good Taste

Skywarp, could not decide if he should be more surprised that Thundercracker was comming, finally, or that Ramjet was diving toward the rooftop at high speed. 'Thundercracker! Where are you? I have been trying to comm you!'

'Where are you?' Thundercracker asked.

Skywarp watched as Ramjet transformed and tumbled onto the rooftop. He seemed to be wearing one of Slipstream's guns.

'Ramjet is here,' Skywarp said anxiously.

'Are you on the roof? Ramjet doesn't have all of the new stealth devices.'

'I am on a roof. Do you mean you are downstairs, in this same building?'

'Why else would Ramjet be here?'

Skywarp was confused.

“No need to explain, no, I have it all figured out,” Ramjet got on his feet and strode across the roof, looking for access to the apartments below.

Skywarp stood, disconnecting from the comm channel with Thundercracker and deactivating Stormshadow. He rushed after Ramjet, but then turned and went back to BB. “Stay safe here, BB. I'm not sure you'll fit, and I need to talk to Thundercracker. Do you think you want to join?”

“Roger.”

“I'll go tell him!” Skywarp turned, again, and looked for Ramjet. He was at a transparent hatch, or perhaps a skylight. Ramjet got the hatch open and dropped inside to a corridor with detailed embossing, engraving or etching on every metal surface. Skywarp dropped down after him. “Ramjet, do you know where you are going?”

“Because I've been to fancy high rises in Iacon so many times before?”

Skywarp commed Thundercracker. 'Which apartment is it?'

'Level sixteen, apartment sigma.'

“Sigma-16,” Skywarp said aloud to Ramjet. 'En route,' he commed back to Thundercracker.

When Ramjet entered the apartment, finding it unlocked, he saw Thundercracker sitting in a chair in the classy interior, and in another partition of the apartment, Slipstream and Red Alert in the midst of an argument.

Slipstream saw Ramjet and instantly went quiet and still.

Ramjet studied the others a moment. Red Alert was also now looking toward him nervously. Skywarp was greeting Thundercracker by bowing to touch the forepart of their helms together.

“Dirge should be on his way, but we are still missing Sunstorm,” Thundercracker said, mainly to Skywarp.

“Sorry. I lost him.”

Ramjet stalked toward the two femmes. “You,” he said to Slipstream, “do whatever Red just told you.”

“But -”

Ramjet put his hand close to Slipstream's face to shush her, even as he turned to look toward Red Alert. “And you, explain.”

“In private?” Red Alert asked.

“Ramjet, there's no way she would even know if I did it or not, so is she just going to take my word if I say I did it?”

“I was trying to extend some brief measure of trust – not that you deserve it – but if you must be so Decepticon about it, I will happily call Glyph!”

“Now that is just going too far. 'Decepticon'?” Skywarp observed, watching from the arm of Thundercracker's chair.

“Slipstream,” Thundercracker groaned; he was beginning to see why certain leaders found certain Seekers so intolerable, “do not dishonor our group and faction so. Purge the data, as our beneficent hostess has requested. Repay her trust by being worthy of it and keep to your word. Teach the Autobot that Decepticons are not all dishonorable and dishonest as she has been led to believe.”

“Yes, Sir,” Slipstream said quietly. She looked up, only slightly and did not meet Red Alert's optics fully. “Red Alert, I give you my word that I shall purge the data as you have requested. On my honor as a Seeker.”

“On your creator's name?” Red Alert asked.

That was asking too much, Slipstream thought. She would refuse.

Thundercracker spoke, sparing Slipstream the need. “Brother, please escort your intended into the other room, if you take issue with any of my Seekers, then, you may bring argument to me.”

“I don't expect it bothers you that someone had to die in order to make you leader,” Ramjet snarked.

Thundercracker brooded silently as he watched Ramjet and Red Alert go into her private quarters. Ramjet was going to be difficult. He may never willingly follow, Thundercracker thought. He was not himself certain he wanted Ramjet as one of his, but he was a Seeker, kin, and a decent flier, if somewhat crash-prone. Seeing the wreck of the Nemesis on Luna, Thundercracker could make an educated guess where that trait came from.

“I am going to take an oil bath,” Slipstream sighed.

“Are you purging the data you took from Red Alert?” Thundercracker asked.

“Yes. It takes just a little while to truly be rid of it.” Sometimes she wished to purge all of His memories, but the damage was done. She would no doubt feel the same about Him, even without all His old memories constantly reminding her why.

“I knew your word was good; you are still my Third-in-Command.”

Slipstream looked across the interior to Thundercracker, and Skywarp at his side. She smiled. Slipstream probably loved them. She probably loved Dirge, too, when she thought about it.

They really were brothers to her. Of course in the sense that they were alike in shard and shell, but also because they had formed a unit together. Autobots probably were taught that Decepticons did not even know of love, that they were evil and only thought of conquest. And while it was true they were a militaristic kind, with a warrior's code – dishonorable or honorable as the code may be from one to another – they certainly did know of love.

Maybe some Decepticons just loved the excitement of battle, and some others tended to truly love their commanders, a few loved odd concepts or individuals of other races, and quite a few seemed to love themselves, but mostly they were likely to love each other. The particular relationship between the four of them was somewhere between that of brothers-in-arms and rival schoolmates. Yes they bickered and strove to challenge and prove themselves against each other, but when it came to challenge and threat from without, Slipstream was certain that they were now close enough they would each fiercely defend the others.

It was as they had agreed, when the four were united: the bonds of their kinship were thicker and stronger than any they later may choose. Eventually, and also very soon, Slipstream needed her brothers to understand that she needed Him back. There was a way; she was at least 90% certain. She would need help, and it would not be easy, and of course there would be a price and sacrifice, but the more she thought about it, the more she was certain it really was possible. She needed them to really understand, to do it for her, and trust His return would in no way invalidate Thundercracker's leadership, or her service to him.

An if – when he came back, he was probably going to be obnoxious and annoying and all-in-all a real pain. Slipstream needed to prepare. She needed to act now, while all the necessary components of her plan were on Cybertron.

“W-wait, did Slipstream actually say 'oil bath'?” Skywarp asked loudly.

Thundercracker made a tight smile. “I myself was torn between my respect for cleanliness and my disdain for Autobot decadence and hedonism. You should see the marvel for yourself, when our sister is through, of course.”

“I've never even had a bath! That other Autobot's facilities were nice enough, I thought.” Skywarp thought about the differences. “I though Autobot government was all for providing for the weak and poor and such.”

“Ah, you see the corruption? The Haves must contribute to the Have-Nots, yet somehow there exists an elite class of Have-Mores who even after contributing what they argue as fair, are still able to live in luxury. Red Alert is not a simple soldier and medi-bot. Look at her family holos and mementos about her apartment. She's related to that sporty blue Autobot with the red face all over the billboards...advertising mods.”

“The Decepticon way is better if we are strong or smart, but I would not want to be a weak Decepticon. No leader would want to reward my service, or compete for my loyalty. There would be no lesser 'Cons to vie for my own attention. No one would give me a position where I could show my worth and move up in rank. Life would just be scrapping about for parts and energon and trying to stay in repair.”

“The weak are beneath our notice, but weakness is not only a physical measure. One can be weak in mind or spark. The betters rule, because they have proven their worthiness. The weak who will not or cannot fend for themselves are only worthy of contempt, perhaps pity and some mercy, but not hand-outs. But, you, My Dear Skywarp, have gone from coward who would have been passed over to Second-in-Command of a Seeker group.”

“Yes, and I have you to thank for it, Oh, Magnificent One.”

“I admit I gave you your first chance for somewhat selfish reasons, but you showed your worth and skill and climbed rank on your own. I am quite proud. Perhaps as reward, I will allow you to choose which game we play before recharging.”

Though Skywarp had not missed the generous offer, something in the mention of games triggered his memory. “Oh! I found us a recruit! He's on the roof. He will maybe seem weak in mind to you, but it is just his language skills seem limited. However, he looks very strong physically, and compatible with heavy artillery. He wants to join, if you find him worthy.”

“You recommend this mech?”

“Yes. I have designated him BB. He seems to be from one of the outer rim sub-factions. He's a bomber.”

“Let us go meet this BB,” Thundercracker said. He was certain the others would be some time before they could discuss their next move. As he rose from the chair, he heard Skywarp whisper the name of the game he wanted to play. “Excellent. A good game for beginners, yet one from which we may all learn.”

Ramjet, for his part, was in Red Alert's private rooms, seated on the floor. He had listened to her accounts and persuasive arguments for and against certain decisions she had made, or future actions she expected of Ramjet. He was angry with his kin for harrying Red, but understood their intent had been to rescue him. Red requested that any vengeance against Slipstream be her own. Ramjet believed Thundercracker and the others would defend Slipstream, in any case.

“What is 'kiss'?” Ramjet asked.

Red Alert giggled. “Do Decepticons not have kissing? Perhaps you have another word for it.”

“Sounds like something that only those in courtship or bond would do, considering your account.” He had seen that hot rodding Autobot, while monitoring his intended from high-altitude. If Ramjet had been closer, he might have done harm, but he was not going to seek that Major and call him out to fight. Whatever this activity he had seemed about to initiate, Red had made it clear that Autobot was not one with which she wished to share it.

“I can show you, if you like.”

“It's not like I'm wildly curious by now.”

Red smiled. She leaned in a little.

“Do- Do I have to do anything. Are we supposed to stand up?”

“You trust me?”

“No!”

“So, you do. Correct?”

“Of course I trust you, Red. You think I sit in the private chambers of Autobots frequently?”

“I mean, regardless of factions, do you trust yourself to me?”

“I do.”

“All right...” Red's expression seemed vacant; it appeared she tasted her lips. She was so close, Ramjet had to switch his optics over to macro in order to focus.

“It's not -?”

“What?” Red said quietly.

“Not anything with sparks...is it?”

She giggled again. “No. Not that. I mean, not that I am experienced, personally, but my medi-bot training was thorough and informative.”

Ramjet honestly did not even know what 'that' was, he only had suspicions and memories of innuendo. He was certain, when it was time, he would just know. Maybe it was dormant programming that required a set of conditions be met before initiating.

“It might be better, this time, if you shut down your optical sensors. You need your other sensors active.”

The trust had not been a lie. Ramjet shut off his optics, so that he would not see. He was first aware of a scent and then proximity, an electrical tingle, followed by slight pressure on his lips and finally the taste of Red's mouth. This was a 'kiss'. All the automated subroutines and sensors that ordinarily served to inform him whether an atmosphere was better suited to one propulsion system versus another, or whether fuel had sufficient chemical properties to power his systems, or even whether he was injured, now took sample of Red and analyzed her body chemistry.

She was perfect. The particular blend of petrochemicals, metal and synthesized compounds broken down in table of parts per billion served to reinforce what Ramjet already knew. Red Alert was the one for him. The pleasantness of the experience, perceived by his processor, gave verity to their compatibility. Red had excellent taste; she was made of the best quality stuff.

Ramjet onlined his optical sensors just as Red Alert drew away from him. He felt at peace, as no conflict existed or could exist in this point in space-time. “I love you.”

“The truth,” Red said, “though I knew it when you said you hated me.” She pressed her mouth to his once more, briefly. “You have a sort of jet fuel scent. I like it. None of us who roll the roads have quite that same scent or taste.”

“Sampled them all, I bet.”

“Of course, every single one.”

“This mouth-pressing, this kissing, I think I can see the appeal. I do not seem to have memories regarding it.”

Red Alert giggled. “Does that mean Starscream has never been kissed?”

“Or he edited our memories more than previously suspected. I do not know which.”

“Well, in any case, I do get to have you all to myself.”

“Was that an intimation of worthiness I heard? Maybe even desire?”

“And you? Not afraid I'll infect you with spores? Defile you with prehensile tongue? Shoot you with the cannon hidden in the back of my mouth?”

Ramjet laughed. “And here I thought biting off the head came after the sparks.”

Red laughed with him, but her tone was more passionate than amused when she spoke, “Ramjet, I want to go somewhere with you.”

“'Cause we're not alone anywhere now.”

“I am saying, if you leave Cybertron, I will go with you. I do not want to be a Decepticon, and I know you do not want to be an Autobot, but I...I want to learn if we are able to live with that, together. I do not know, yet, if there will be ceremonies or vows in the future, but I do want to be near you now. I will find a way to explain to those I care about here. I've no intention of cutting myself off from them, but I do not think they would be very welcoming to you.”

“I don't even know where I'll go.”

“Then choose to follow someone, until you see your own path clearly,” Red suggested.

Sunstorm was lost and low on energy. He was also genuinely surprised that he had not been arrested yet. After wasting nearly all the energy he had been able to absorb from the force bars, in his panicked flight from the prison, he had wasted even more precious energy flying around, just to feel the lift and laminar flow of atmosphere over his wings. He had manged not to crash, somehow, and merely landed awkwardly in the middle of a broad roadway between monumental buildings.

Now, he sat slumped against a retaining wall, near the steps to some important-looking building, looking at another large and seemingly important facade across the street. Autobots rolled or walked past, but somehow did not seem to take notice.

Granted his bold coloring did blend somewhat with the local architecture, but that did not explain how they seemed to miss the purple brands on his wings. He had no active dampening to disguise his distinct Decepticon energy patterns, although he supposed he was possibly so low on energy that he did not broadcast very far. He was not quite as apt at putting the memories of scientific training into practice as the others.

Sunstorm had done a lot of what he called inner seeking, while in prison. He thought about himself, his fellow clones, existence, meaning, nature. It occurred to him that as clones with preinstalled memory, they were only really similar up to the point they first came online. At that point, all the memories were equally new to them, and thus equally fresh and sharp as when Starscream had first committed each event to memory. As they came online, their core Seeker programming had been identical as had their memories. Their physical shells had developed some distinction in the protoforming process, he supposed, but again he was not the scientist.

Sunstorm was interested in the effect those first few millicycles of self-awareness had on the present state of each clone. Why did they have their differences? Could it be explained by the shards of the AllSpark alone? Or, perhaps, might their decisions made in the earliest stage of online existence affect their future course? Had Thundercracker, by making a choice, first happened on a memory of Starscream in the midst of some miserable failure and decided in his first moment of awareness of self that his self was superior to what he had for comparison in memory?

Sunstorm thought that he had in his choices, determined consciously or at random, made use of the same intelligence all the clones possessed, but had rather than science or battle, fixated on memories of Starscream at his most introspective, after loosing a battle, or suffering injury, or being turned down by someone attractive, or passed over for promotion. Always the self-analysis, wondering: why were things the way that they were, was it possible for one such as himself to become more or better, and if so, how? Self-critical, but secretly and guardedly so, and in the introspection, open to seeing what was better about others.

Sunstorm had gone the route of flattery and sycophancy. Seeing what he desired to be in others, smarmily relaying the positive traits he observed, and to his own detriment. Then, he had run out of good things to say. Perhaps it would come back, but it had not yet.

Almost on empty, he continued to sit slumped against the wall retaining the sculpture garden in front of one of the important government buildings. He could see Autobots, and even mechanisms from other colonies and splinter factions lining up in queue to enter the building across the street.

Introspective still, Sunstorm considered that the outward trait each clone showed was not necessarily the key or primary thing that defined them. For example, he had been called a 'suck-up', but the underlying truth was that he was self-critical and highly introspective. And Ramjet had been called a liar, but having spent a while living with him in a small prison cell, Sunstorm could say that the lying itself was not Ramjet's most defining trait. Ramjet had a contrary, rebellious need to be shocking and controversial, and this again had underlying motivations, and that was that Ramjet was critical about the universe in general and perhaps even an idealist at shard.

He was sure it would prove true of the others. For example, that Slipstream was so guarded and defensive about herself, particularly her emotions was very likely motivated by some secret emotional weakness or insecurity, which she wanted badly to hide from others, or to deny.

Someone tossed an energon goodie at Sunstorm. He caught it awkwardly, leaning and clutching to keep the goodie intact, with the short notice that an object was incoming. So, it had come to it that he was seen only as some empty living on the streets. The mechanisms about him did not recognize him as a Decepticon, because they were not really looking at him. He was passed over by their glances, seen only as an unfortunate in their periphery and beneath notice. It was almost Decepticon of them. 

Sunstorm ate the goodie. He knew it would not be enough to get him flying again, but it would stave off involuntary stasis a while longer.

“What is we having here, Brother?” a voice asked in heavily accented Autobot. Sunstorm looked up and saw the blue 'Bot on his left. He had found, also in his prison term introspection, that as a clone with preinstalled memory, he was able to piece together information from separate memories in a manner that Starscream may never have done. In other words, Sunstorm could recognize patterns and make connections between events in Starscream's life, even though Starscream had never made the same connection. For example, he could understand Autobot fairly well, though it was not apparent in any one of Starscream's memories that he had possessed this ability.

“I am thinking it is being Starscream, yet he is not being Starscream.” Sunstorm could not only understand their words, based on Starscream's many years of hearing, but not comprehending, Autobot speech; but he could tell the blue one and his gold brother had the accent of the Cyberion Wastes. Maybe they had worked at a power plant or refinery there. 

“Is being, is not being, that is the question,” Sunstorm said to them, imitating their speech patterns. “To exist, to bear the unbearable lightness of being, what does this really mean?”

The gold one, Jetfire, bent and peered at Sunstorm. “I am thinking he is one of the escaped clones we are looking for.”

“Yes, Brother,” the blue one, Jetstorm, said, also peering, “Is strange. He is not having the sadistic behavior of the Starscream we know.”

“Do we even truly know, Starscream, Brother?” Jetfire asked. 

“Perceptor is making simulation a challenge with data of real Starscream,” Jetstorm argued.

“And Starscream is making clones without this data, Brother?” Jetfire asked, bitterly sarcastic tone being not unlike Ramjet's, Sunstorm thought.

“Brothers,” Sunstorm said. He saw the twins turned from argument to face him. “What is made from Starscream's code is at moment of being, no longer being Starscream. We are each being ourselves, we are making our own choices. Do you know Starscream? Do you not know Starscream? What is knowing? Can any be said to truly know another, Brothers?”

“Are you having what I am having, Brother,” Jetfire hissed to Jetstorm, though loudly enough that Sunstorm could hear.

“Are you also having the flashing in your processor?”

“What means this, Brother?” Jetfire asked.

“We are needing to ask Mr. Sentinel Magnus about this, Brother.”

“Brothers,” Sunstorm whispered, “Come closer. I can help you.”

The twins looked to each other, wondering what their decision should be. After silent deliberation, Jetfire and Jetstorm both approached Sunstorm.

“Help me up,” Sunstorm said, playing up his genuine weakness a bit. He felt their hands on his torso and was able to stand. The moment he was on his feet, Sunstorm spread his arms, as if to take the two Autobot fliers under his wings and confide some secret. Having their confidence, Sunstorm quickly dug his claws beneath the dorsal armor plating of each twin and pinched the wing-nubs he had expected to find.

The twins, unfamiliar with the sensation, wailed wordlessly, and swayed with obvious disorientation.

“So, this is the extent of Autobot science? Creating wingless flight models with codes they do not fully understand? Do you even know what you are?”

“Autobot science is sneering at you!” Jetfire spat weakly. Sunstorm pinched the wing-nub harder and Jetfire wailed again.

“Brother,” Jetstorm whispered.

“Yes!”

Sunstorm felt the hot and cold run up his arms as the twins used their special abilities to produce and control fire and ice to resist him. “I sneer at your resistance!” Sunstorm said, as he absorbed the energy of their attacks. Icy-hot, he thought, this was actually a rather pleasant sensation.

Sunstorm stopped short of sending the twins into stasis and dropped them to the street. Fully charged again, Sunstorm smirked as he looked down at the two twins. “Is that being sadistic enough for you, Brothers?”

The twins produced only moans, looking up with flickering yellow optics and blue visor.

“I so want to thank you both!” Sunstorm said, realizing he had something good to say. “Really, you are most generous! I thank you for the boost, My Brothers. You are too kind, really!”

“Please,” Jetstorm said weakly.

“Is nothing,” Jetfire said.

The twins lay on the street, only just noticing the crowd of onlookers, and watched Sunstorm transform and fly away. “Are you thinking what I am thinking?” Jetstorm asked.

“We are being so totally fragged, Brother!”


	15. Dye-a-clone

“Fragged again!” Bumblebee shouted.

Sari looked at the yellow Autobot lying on the pitted alien landscape, bleeding oil and energon. She then looked up at the guilty blue flier. “Jetstorm! What is with the friendly fire today?”

Bumblebee's ghost now stood over his off-lined shell. “What the slag? Is it Shoot the Yellow 'Bots Day?”

The third yellow 'Bot descended. “Do not be yelling at Jetstorm,” Jetfire said defensively.

“You yell at him all the time,” Sari snapped.

“He is not feeling well since Mr. Sentinel Magnus said we is needing more training.”

“I am being bored of this game!” Jetstorm said, and promptly disappeared, indicating that he had disconnected from the holomatter net game.

“Is seeing you later, friends,” Jetfire said, and then quickly disconnected.

“I thought Jetstorm loved video games,” Sari said.

“I guess it's like Jetfire said,” Bumblebee said, sitting whole and undamaged in Sari's borrowed room on Cybertron, “His game's been off since the Big Jerk told them off for failing to capture that Starscream clone.”

Sari nodded, battle armor hidden away now she was in private quarters. She understood why her Autobot friends had tried so hard to keep her away from the Decepticons and battle when she had been younger. She remembered when they had first encountered Starscream himself, and 'Bee had saved her. She was older now, and her upgrades allowed her to take care of herself, but the guys were still very protective, even when they allowed her to battle alongside them. “Starscream was a powerful opponent, wasn't he? Sometimes even Prowl had trouble...”

“Yeah.” They both missed Prowl. 'Bee had teased Prowl a lot, but it had been all in good fun. Maybe humans would say it was brotherly, like sibling rivalry. They missed the company of their friend, but 'Bee and Sari were also experienced enough now to understand the tactical loss. Prowl had been lightly built, but his Cyber-Ninja skills had enabled him to hold his own against Starscream or one of his clones on multiple occasions.

They were both silent for a while, and then 'Bee said, “I guess I'll go to my own room and let you get some recharge – sleep I mean.”

“'Bee.”

“Of course, you can still comm me if you can't reach something.”

Sari laughed. They were staying in rooms within a structure that Sari thought of as a Cybertronian equivalent of a complex of garden apartments, or small row houses. She understood some Autobot now, though she was unable to fully mimic the range of sounds required to speak it. She had heard the locals referred to the neighborhood within Iacon as 'Scramble City' due to the concentration of small scale roadways and structures, with mini-bot builds racing around. It was the closest thing they had to human scale housing, but Sari still found some things difficult to reach, without using her jetpack, or climbing.

Still, she appreciated the efforts of her friends to make her feel at home. Truthfully, Sari was still struggling sometimes with fully accepting her techno-organic nature. She knew it was true, intellectually, that she was half human and half Cybertronian. But, what that really meant, or where her place was; she still asked herself. One thing she especially appreciated was that Bulkhead and Glyph between them had figured out a way to convert her wash facilities to something appropriate to her organic parts. Bulkhead had devised the plan, but he had needed to call the instructions through the window to someone both smaller and technologically inclined.

“Goodnight, 'Bee.”

“'Nite, Sari!”

After Bumblebee had gone, Sari went to take a shower before going to bed. She walked back into her bedroom after washing and climbed up onto the strange bed. To her, it looked like something that astronauts on Earth's space station might use, thin and covered in a layer of some kind of foam. The floral-print sheets she had brought from Earth didn't cover the entire surface, but made the area she used feel more familiar. Glyph had thought the sheets strange and asked what purpose was served by flammable berth-coverings.

Optimus had discreetly asked Autobots he knew if there was a small femme they could trust to act as guide to his small companion who was only half Cybertronian, and Glyph had been recommended. Personally, Sari had rather liked Arcee, after meeting her and talking with her while flying to Cybertron on Omega Supreme. Optimus and Ratchet both said Arcee had things to do and it would be better if someone else helped Sari understand Cybertronian customs and facilities. Apparently 'Bee could not be trusted with this task, because someone who was human and female must be more comfortable speaking to a femme.

Apparently getting along with races that had male and females sexes was one of the reasons some Cybertronians had developed distinct gender.

There was a lot to process, Sari thought. It was difficult to sleep, with all that had happened recently. She guessed Optimus had been right in assigning Sari a guide, though. When they had been on Earth, the guys had done their best to fit in with Earth cultures and show the humans of Detroit that they intended peace and friendship. 

Now, it was Sari's turn to try to fit in with Cybertronian culture. Her Dad had said he approved of her making the trip. It was true she was half Cybertronian, created from a protoform exposed to Professor Sumdac's DNA. He felt it was right, especially now she was older, that Sari learn what came with her other half. Embrace her roots or something like that.

The first rule had been not to go outside private quarters without her armor, so that she would not frighten Autobots who were not yet prepared to meet an organic being. It seemed a little unfair. The guys had tried disguising themselves as vehicles at first, but soon everyone in Detroit had been aware there were giant alien robots living in their city. But, then, Sari had to admit that on Earth, there already existed other types of robots, so that the concept of robots was not itself strange.

There were no organics on Cybertron.

Sari heard a tap at her window and sat up in her bed. She wondered if there was weather on Cybertron, or if maybe Bulkhead was outside. She hopped down from the bed and went to her window. She could see the road outside their house. There were min-bots in vehicle form driving along, as usual. She thought she even recognized Brawn pulling into a garage across the street.

Sari did not see Bulkhead. She opened the window to the outside atmosphere. She had proven able to breathe on Cybertron, but she honestly did not know if her Cybertronian parts were helping to support her Organic parts by processing the atmosphere. She knew that in armored mode she could go as far to survive in the vacuum of space.

“Sari!” a voice called from below. The voice was not immediately recognizable.

“Who's there?” Sari hissed.

“Sari, come down. I need to talk to you. I need your help.” They could speak English.

Sari leaned forward out the window, trying to see who was speaking. A human? It looked like there was a human woman standing near the front of the house. It had to be a trick or a joke. Maybe it was a hologram of some kind. Sari had seen Prowl's mustached facsimile when on Earth. “Who are you, really?”

“I only want to talk. Come down. Please.” It sounded like it was actually difficult for the person, whoever it was, to say 'please'.

“OK. I'll come, but if this is a trick...” Sari activated her armor then left the room by the window and descended slowly using her jetpack. She could see better now that the woman, if that's what it was, was basically human in shape, but so pale as to look rather blue-complected and sort of like a video game elf. Her hair was green. “So, talk. Who are you?”

“We never have been introduced, but I've seen you around Detroit and I know who you are. I'm Slipstream,” Slipstream said through her avatar.

Slipstream? It took Sari a while to place the name. The Autobots had only recently learned the designations of the individual Starscream clones. “You're a Decepticon!” Sari said.

“I am not here to fight or harm you. I swear...I swear on the name of my creator. I really need your help.”

“So, what's with the hologram? Green hair is not exactly typical for humans.”

“I believe humans do have products known as 'hair dye',” Slipstream said impatiently.

“Oh, sure Dye-a-Clone! I use it all the time when I am trying to blend in!” Sari said with heavy sarcasm.

“I am not ignorant of human customs. My other avatar is still being edited. This one is supposed to enable you to recognize me. See? Blue and violet.” Slipstream's avatar gestured toward blue jeans and then violet tunic shirt.

It still didn't explain the green hair. Sari shrugged, “Listen, if this is about the key, you should know, if you have been on Earth, that it doesn't have power anymore.”

“I do know,” Slipstream said. “I need you to talk to the AllSpark. It knows you. It gave you its power. I realize you no longer have direct access to that power, but it's signature and residual energy is within you.”

“You think I would really help you with some Decepticon plot?”

“Maybe, if you understood. I thought, there was a chance. It is difficult for me to explain. I really need the AllSpark to do something for me, but it needs all the information to do it. It needs to know our intentions. Maybe I can do it without you, but I am only about 60% certain that would work. Too high a margin for error.”

“What do you expect the AllSpark to do?” Sari asked suspiciously.

“Grant life.”

Sari thought about this for a minute. “You want Starscream back?”

The avatar nodded.

“Are you insane? Why would I possibly want to help you bring Starscream back?”

“Stop saying his name like that! It's probably not how you think. There's no plan to steal the AllSpark, or attack Iacon or even attack Detroit. I just need Him back. I need Him, Sari. I realize the AllSpark is sentient. It is not something Autobots or Decepticons should take for themselves. It is for all of us. I just want a chance to communicate with it. To make a request. That's all.”

“But why?” Sari pressed, “so He can blow up more of you clones with bombs? So he can lead you into battle as his pawns?”

“I don't expect anyone to really understand!” Slipstream snapped, “I just need Him, OK?”

Sari giggled. “Oh, you 'like' Him! You really like Starscream!”

“I can't stand him,” Slipstream insisted.

“I know how it is to loose someone you cared about, but...” Was it even possible for the AllSpark to bring back dead Cybertronians? Should it be used in that way? “What makes you think this is even possible?”

The avatar smiled. “St- my creator was killed the first time when Megatron overloaded him with the energy of the key. So, that means there was contact with the AllSpark energy and key at that moment. And the remainder of that is in you, Sari, any data or residue of that contact. And afterward, He was kept alive by means of a shard of the AllSpark, so that piece had contact with Him, maintained or held His spirit, if you will. And His...His deactivation was caused when that Cyber-Ninja summoned the shards to reunite the AllSpark. So, that piece that held His spirit is right now in the AllSpark. If you go with me to the AllSpark, then there's some chance, that it will have enough data, an imprint if you will, of my creator, in order to recreate Him as he was.”

One thing was certain this clone had given the situation an awful lot of thought. “Could it work for Prowl?” Sari whispered. “He gave his spark. He merged himself with the AllSpark.”

“I would like nothing more than to tell you that was certain, if it would convince you to help me get what I want, but the AllSpark would detect my deceit and probably not be inclined to honor my request. I believe it has intelligence and can know our thoughts and feelings. I cannot lie to you to gain your assistance. It will nullify my entire plan.”

“Then, you don't think it could work for Prowl?”

“I honestly do not know.”

“But you are asking me for a chance, just a chance to have the AllSpark hear your request, without knowing for certain if it will be granted. You said you believed it was not some thing to serve only Autobots or Decepticons. So, if you deserve any chance to make a request, I deserve the same!”

“Yes, if that is your intention.”

“Yes, just to ask. To know if it is possible, to know if it is what Prowl would want.”

“Then you agree to help me?”

“Listen, here's the deal: I'll go with you, and I'll talk to the AllSpark, or let it talk to me. I'll allow you your chance to make your request, so long as I get my own chance. But that's it! I don't help you disable Autobots on the way. I don't see you or any other Decepticons harm Autobots. No one takes the AllSpark from the place it is kept! Requests granted or not, we go our separate ways!”

“Deal,” Slipstream said as the avatar extended its hand.

Sari took the holomatter hand and sealed their deal with a handshake. 

“Here is the contact scheme we will use,” Slipstream said as the avatar offered a data key. “I will contact you when it is time. It will be soon.”

Sari took the small memory device, and as she did the avatar faded from sight.

Slipstream, conscious of her own shell again, scanned her surroundings. It appeared she had gone undiscovered. Thundercracker had warned her about the danger of leaving her shell unprotected, but she had been certain she would not be able to safely approach Sari or gain her cooperation in the larger Seeker shell.

Slipstream climbed from the tunnel in which she had been hiding, transformed and flew back toward the apartment in which the others were gathered.

Dirge and Sunstorm had both found their way to the apartment and were within. Red Alert had banished Swindle and Vortex from her home, and so they and BB were all hiding in the literal underground, doing their best to avoid the tunnel drones that cleaned and monitored tunnels in the more security-sensitive areas of the city.

Red Alert was only temporarily and reluctantly tolerating the Seekers, she said, and spent most of her time closeted in her private chambers with Ramjet. Lately they had been making a lot of noise, which prompted Thundercracker to declare they must be doing something inappropriate, though he would not tell the others what inappropriate activities he thought they might be doing.

Sunstorm and Dirge were seated on the floor of what they supposed to be a room dedicated to formal refueling. Sunstorm said that decadent or not, he thought Megatron had a similarly fancy place where he kept his private stock of various types of oil and special goblets for drinking. He was most appreciative that Scalpel was at work restoring his comm and weapon systems to full function.

Dirge was interested in Sunstorm's claim that the two Autobot fliers of which the elite guard was so proud were actually Seekers from kernel to protoform layer, trapped in clumsy, wingless Autobot shells. “How could they not know?” Dirge wondered aloud.

“Autobot scientists are marvelously irreverent and meddlesome!” Sunstorm professed.

Skywarp, now seated on a bench with Thundercracker, was doing his best to console their leader. “Maybe they are just playing a game,” he suggested timidly.

“Does that sound like a game? All the straining engines and shouting and the...the tire squealing!”

“I still do not understand what it is you think they are doing?”

“Bad influence,” Thundercracker grumbled, “Decadent Autobots. Hedonistic! Ignorant. Spared the knowing of real hardships. Life in refugee colonies and starships. The losses that can happen. They are too casual about it!”

“Is there a bad memory?” Skywarp asked. “A memory I have not accessed?”

“You would only be frightened. I hope you do not find it.”

“I am brave enough!” Skywarp insisted. “If there is some memory relevant to our cause, or something that troubles Decepticons, I should know it. I am 2IC. How can I advise you properly, if I do not know the dangers we may face?”

Thundercracker did not like the memories he had uncovered. He did not like that he had pieced together brief scenes from Starscream's long lifetime and understood the hardships and hard decisions that had been made. The innuendo that made sense in context of strict military discipline. He grasped Skywarp's closest hand in his claws and squeezed.

“Please,” Skywarp whispered, “We've synced memory before. I will not blame you, if I get scared.”

Thundercracker acquiesced. Syncing was not like diving. There was no entering the other individual. It was simply connecting, wirelessly or not, to synchronize playback of shared data, including memories. Thundercracker had synced with Skywarp many times in the past, when they wished to share their opinions on a certain memory of Starscream or what Starscream had observed of others, such as Megatron.

Skywarp opened the wireless connection and received the timecode data in order to sync playback. The series of memories were accessed by his processor. At first, he did not see the connection between the events, but slowly he began to understand what Thundercracker had.

In the many stellar cycles after being forced from Cybertron, the Decepticons had lacked the stable environment and constant supply of resources that the Autobots enjoyed. The leaders had no choice but to strictly ration energy and other resources. Sometimes, the welfare of individual soldiers, particularly those who could no longer fight, had to be sacrificed in order to keep others functioning. Those who could fight received the most rations.

Another effect of the shortages was that it became exceptionally difficult for new Decepticons to survive. Energy was required to create and sustain a newspark. Specific resources were needed to prepare protoforms to receive newsparks. Further resources were needed to upgrade sparklings and younglings to their fully adult form. They were smaller and weaker and unable to fight with as much skill as an adult soldier.

Having a newspark had once been a happy occurrence for any Cybertronian, but the Decepticons of that era associated it with anxiety, loss and grief. Many tried to sacrifice to protect the future. Starscream had been among them, when he was younger. Stolen enough energy and resources, vowed to go without rations themselves, even if the sparklings were not their own. They believed it was in the good of the cause to protect the little ones.

But many did not survive, even with sacrifices.

Time came when the leadership decided that it was not in the best interest of the cause to encourage relationships that included emotional attachment or activity that might create newsparks. This only served to demoralize their troops, when mate or offspring died. They encouraged Decepticons to view emotional attachment as weak. They encouraged political and military alliances, but no union that involved procreation. 

Sometimes, they even punished Decepticons found to be involved in courtship or romantic relationship.

The end result was that, after so many stellar cycles, there were far fewer Decepticons alive than Autobots. And those that lived, in the main, had long been conditioned to avoid all emotional involvement that might lead to future procreation.

“It's very sad,” Skywarp said, when he had viewed the memories. “How long? How long knowing this, by yourself?”

“Not always. Only since we learned Ramjet was courting the Autobot.”

“You could have told me. It is very sad, but maybe it doesn't have to be like that anymore.”

“I am not letting it happen to me!”Thundercracker said, tone much sharper than he would normally use with Skywarp.

“It's going to be all right,” Skywarp whispered.

“I will not allow such a thing to happen to me! I will not allow it. Not endure it. I will not risk it!”

Skywarp understood. He squeezed Thundercracker's hand. “It really will be all right. We're young, I mean, you are still young, so no one would expect you, even being a strong leader who wishes to be an example, to have such a union that would create newsparks. I am certain no one would ask it of you, or pressure you, or expect it, if you did not truly want it. If it were me, and I was scared...”

“I am not scared. I do not frighten easily, like you!”

Skywarp flinched at the sharp tone, but he really did understand that Thundercracker was frightened and it was making him overly defensive. Skywarp knew very well how that felt. “No, I did not mean you were frightened, I only meant that if it were someone else, like me, who were frightened, that you would not expect it of them. Would you?”

“Of course not. It would be despicable to force such a thing. As despicable as it is to deny others the very option of courting or creating new life. I will not presume to regulate the feelings and private actions of my subordinates, though I hold strong opinions on the matter.”

“Well, then, there is no worry. I've promised to stay by your side, so you can trust that I will not let anyone pressure you about this subject. If you do change your mind, sometime far in the future, and you think you have found someone with whom you might do those things, just let me know, so I can let them be with you.”

“You are the best, most dependable...I cannot reward you enough, My Dear.”

“Oh, it's reward enough just being yours, My Lord.”

Just as Skywarp thought he had made peace, Ramjet came staggering out from Red Alert's rooms. “Disgraceful, appearing like that!” Thundercracker declared, back to ranting at the disgracefulness and unworthiness of everyone again.

Ramjet's helm was missing, revealing his crest of red plates; he was missing the tail fins from his left leg; and most objectionable to Thundercracker, he had black tire tread marks on his legs. He walked sluggishly across the interior and then opened one of the storage cabinets. The others watched as Ramjet removed a can of oil, punctured the top with his claws, and chugged down half the can. He then, as quietly and seemingly oblivious to the others, walked back toward Red Alert's rooms.

“Um, Ramjet, what is it you were doing in there?” Skywarp asked.

“Jet Judo, what'd ya think?” Ramjet replied and disappeared again into the private rooms.

“You see? They really were just playing a game!”Skywarp said cheerfully.

“He is lying!” Thundercracker insisted.

“It is not so easy to tell recently,” Skywarp said as Slipstream let herself back into the apartment.

“I need to speak with you...Sir,” she said.

“It is not the best time,” Skywarp advised.

Slipstream continued to direct her words to Thundercracker. “Sir, it is important. It is about...the...the spare parts, Sir.”

“I know you are trying to bring Him back,” Thundercracker said. “I do not see why it should be important to me.”

“Sir, I need your help.” Slipstream went down on one knee. There was a pause before Slipstream continued, in which Dirge knocked on Red Alert's door to get Ramjet's attention, and Sunstorm moved closer to the bench, to hear what would make their sister beg. “Sir, I am asking you as a sister and subordinate to hear and honor my request. I have acquired materials and information to act out my plan. I have even obtained the cooperation of Sari Sumdac. I need only your approval and the cooperation of yourself and the other clones.”

“I greatly suspect there is something you are leaving out.” Thundercracker said as Dirge and Ramjet both approached.

“I am not certain, Sir.”

“Of what, exactly?”

“The price.”

“That is it then. Is it not?

“Thundercracker, I ask you, please. I need Him back. I swear on His name I will continue to serve you. Still, I will go mad if I do not at least make this attempt. I am 90% certain this will work, the AllSpark can be reached, we can get to it, and we will be able to communicate with it. There is that margin of error, because I cannot know until I make the attempt what price the AllSpark might demand in return.”

“Do you not, Slipstream? Answer me directly, if you can. What could the AllSpark possibly want that we now possess? Might it be anything like what it took from Starscream that cost him his immortal life?”

“Yes. It might. It might very well want the shards.”

At that, it seemed all six Seeker clones became involved in the debate. Was it even true Starscream could be revived? What was the plan? Would they die themselves if they approached sustained by shards of the AllSpark? Why did they need Sari's help?

Some thought it a good idea to bring Starscream back, while others did not. And even those that agreed it may be good to have Starscream back, did not agree on what sacrifice was acceptable in order to revive their creator.

“The AllSpark is not loyal to Autobots any more than Decepticons,” Slipstream insisted. “Whatever it's real origin or nature, it does seem to be sentient, and it has displayed interest in granting life to Cybertronians, such as ourselves, even to other types of mechanisms, such as on Earth. It has shown no inclination to destroy life.”

“But it took Starscream's shard!” Thundercracker argued.

“No. I told you, the Autobots did it. Prowl summoned the separate shards with some Cyber-Ninja technique, our creator came close enough that his also was summoned.”

“And why would the AllSpark help us, assuming we want Starscream back?” Sunstorm asked.

“Because it is not whole. That is why the Autobots brought Prowl's shell back as a hero who had made a great sacrifice. There were not enough shards near enough to summon to make the AllSpark truly whole, so Prowl gave his own spark to the AllSpark to give it enough power. Think about it: if his one spark was enough to make enough difference in order to power that shield, then think what all our shards would do? His one finite life against all our shards that grant immortality? It has got to be in the best interest of all parties for the AllSpark to accept our shards, give us real sparks, and reignite our creator's spark. It's what you call win-win. It gets to be closer to truly whole, and what is granting a few sparks to it? That's what it's done for eons. We get our creator back, we get real sparks -”

“You are My Sister, but I like my shard,” Dirge said, “Immortality is not something everyone has.”

“With the shards, we will always be different,” Ramjet said.

“Is that a lie?” Thundercracker asked, a bit flippant compared to his usual imperious tone.

“There is a difference,” Ramjet said. “The energy field of someone with the shard feels different than the field of one with a spark.” 

“What is this based upon?” Dirge asked.

“Red told me.”

“Oh, and I trust her completely!” Thundercracker said, sounding more like Ramjet's usual self.

Ramjet thought it funny that Thundercracker was unnerved and laughed.

“Ramjet, I realize you have not sworn allegiance to Thundercracker, yet, but that was not even very brotherly of you.”

Ramjet shrugged at Skywarp's defense of his leader. “The shard gives you immortality, but it limits some of your senses by making your field more condensed or constricted. A spark's field is more, dispersed, interacts with other fields more readily.”

“You mean you are not certain you can spark with the Autobot having a shard?” Thundercracker demanded. “Such honorable motivation!”

“To each his own, but I'm voting we go see the AllSpark. Starscream can slag himself for all I care, but I'm asking for a spark. I don't want to be immortal if those I care for are not. It's not like we have short life spans as it is, compared to other species.”

“I vote to go also,” Skywarp said, standing as he cast his vote.

“'Warp?”

“Sir, are we not each free to volunteer for the mission or not, as we choose? I have my reasons. I believe it for the good of our cause. I will go, and if need be, I will offer my own shard.”

That made it three against three. Thundercracker looked to Dirge and then Sunstorm.

“I will go,” Sunstorm voted, “Only because I want to witness the AllSpark for myself. If it is a thing truly worthy of ages of pursuit and debate and truly is as powerful as is said, then I want to see it. I wish to understand its greatness.”

Dirge looked at Thundercracker and then to Slipstream. Dirge wanted to be helpful to Slipstream, but to ask him to give up his own shard seemed too much, even for his sister.

“Dirge, we are going,” Thundercracker said finally.

“Sir?” Skywarp and Slipstream asked as one.

“We will all go, together.”

“Thank you, Sir!” Slipstream said as she stood.

“So, what plan have you devised to meet the objective, Commander?”

Slipstream laughed giddily. “The AllSpark is housed with in a temple here in Iacon in a chamber on level C zone 4. The temple is currently maintained by the Priesthood of Primus, and they have opened the temple to the general public in order to let faithful view the AllSpark. Mechanisms from all over Cybertron and other related worlds are making pilgrimages to view the AllSpark. Not only Primus worshipers, but mechanisms of many faiths who claim some connection, even atheists who consider it merely a device beyond explanation by current scientific understanding. That is our way in! With a little disguising, we can pass as pilgrims from a world colonized by Cybertronians. Once in the chamber with the Allspark, we will need to make some kind of distraction to buy us a short time to make our requests.”

“Don't we need to bring Him with us?” Skywarp asked.

“Yes, sorry. Sunstorm said he saw others lined up and brining injured, as if planning to make a request for healing. So, I believe we can bring Him, as if we are faithful that believe he can be brought back to life.”

“Which we are, from a certain point-of view,” Thundercracker said.

“I don't suppose the Priesthood of Primus would be the slightest bit interested if someone who had been deactivated got up and walked out of their temple?” Ramjet asked, back to being snarky.

“There is a contingency plan for a quick getaway, but so long as we keep the pod, no one will have to know who or what is inside, deactivated or not.”

“You really have thought this out,” Thundercracker said quietly.

“I've thought of little else,” Slipstream admitted. “Now, we do need some disguising, so I got a nanite reprogramming pen for tattoo removal, some helms and propellers from a scrap pile and some red and blue paint.” She pulled the supplies from subspace storage.

“I am especially confident that paint and a helm will convince Autobots that I do not transform into a jet!” Ramjet said sarcastically.

“That's what the props are for,” Slipstream said, “Just attach them wherever you can manage. If anyone bothers to ask, just tell them you are a submersible craft from an ocean planet.”

“I for one genuinely like this plan!” Sunstorm said, “I have full confidence in your tactical abilities, Slipstream. This is all most ingenious.”

“Maybe our planet is called Aquatitron,” Skywarp said, “Scalpel actually looks like an aquatic build.”

“These disguises are not very regal,” Thundercracker complained.


	16. Machina ex Deus

The six Seekers, plus Scalpel and Sari approached the temple in their disguises; Thundercracker, Skywarp, Dirge and Ramjet bearing the sealed stasis pod containing their deactivated creator. Sunstorm was disguised as a priest, with symbols of the Priesthood of Primus painted on his borrowed helm and a tabard made of some draperies from Red Alert's apartment. Slipstream, walked alongside Sunstorm at the front, carrying Sari as if she were her own youngling; they played the roles of grieving widow and child.

Null rays had been removed from arm ports and put in storage. Thundercracker still carried his swords, as he had insisted they looked ceremonial. All Decepticon brands had been covered by some means, in some cases replaced by red stars. All the Seekers had bits of freshly-painted scrap attached to their shells to look as little like flight models as possible, and as much like submersibles as they were able. Scalpel, perched on Sunstorm's left shoulder, was temporarily painted red.

Scalpel was to scan the nearby Autobots with his spectacles and quietly warn Sunstorm if any appeared a serious threat. Slipstream and Sari moaned and wailed occasionally. Sunstorm gave out blessings in the name of Primus. The rest tried to look somber and not anxious or irritated.

The wait to get to the temple entrance itself seemed dangerously long, and each of them at some point feared they would be discovered. There were a few autotroopers and security teams in the area, against the chance of followers of differing religions starting a riot, but other than their casual glances, no one seemed to pay the disguised Seekers the slightest attention.

It was one of those times in which a plan that seemed insane worked, because no sane person could anticipate the plan. Starscream would be proud. The Guard was still searching Iacon and the outlying areas for escaped Decepticons, but they were looking everywhere but in plain sight, searching old transit tunnels, large warehouses, roads leaving the city, rooftops, and power facilities.

Finally, they came to the steps of the temple. Two Autobot priests approached and greeted Sunstorm. “May the One True Primogenitor bless your sparks and sustain you, Brothers.” Sunstorm said.

“You do not come to us from Cybertron?”

“Primus has blessed you with keen power of observation. I am Deacon Squall. Our revered progenitors were called to spread the covenant to distant worlds in the age before the Great War. We come now from Aquatitron.”

“Aquatitron? Then, you must know Bishop Bayfoam.”

It was like they though he had come online last decacycle, Sunstorm thought. “No. Don't recollect any Bayfoams. Perhaps you are mistaken. Ah, perhaps you meant to say Bishop Seaspray?”

“I think we do have a Seaspray in one of our missions,” one of the Autobot priests said quietly.

“What is it you bear?” The other asked.

“The recently deactivated.”

Slipstream began to wail again and threw herself and Sari toward the stasis pod.

“His surviving bonded,” Sunstorm whispered discretely, “Seablast, she lives now only for little Scuttle's sake. It is her wish to bring her mate's shell before the AllSpark.”

“Go; follow the acolytes within.”

Sunstorm bowed and then turned to Slipstream and made as if to comfort her, by taking her under his arm. “...and the stone of their protection shall rise up..” he quoted from scripture, as they passed the priests.

The temple acolytes were younglings or Autobots only just in their final upgrades, all in training for priesthood. Those who had recognizable alt-modes seemed to transform into vehicles appropriate to their future ceremonial duties: pace cars, parade cars, diplomatic escorts adorned with small Autobot banners or flags, light trucks or long wagons to convey altars or sacred objects. 

The acolytes directed the group to a higher level within the temple. They processed slowly, remembering they were both acting out and actually bearing the shell of a deactivated kinsmech. They reached the appropriate level, and there were directed through a long colonnade. There were other devoted in front of them, still waiting their turn to view the AllSpark. To the sides they could see into small chapels, presumably holding artifacts the Priesthood of Primus viewed as sacred: various reliquaries containing glowing objects, ancient oil lamps burning steady flames, keys, remotes, meteoritic elements; and such relics that might have been parts of some ancient or god-like Cybertronian, such as gigantic cogs and gears. 

It came time to enter the chamber. The acolytes ushered the group inside where an attendant priest stood quietly to the right of the AllSpark. The stasis pod was placed upon the floor. “I will lead us in prayer,” Sunstorm said, which was the cue for their distraction. He then began to speak what sounded, at least, like prayers to Primus. “...and cast ye the Dark Wizards of the Decepticons, and Worshipers of the Dark God, Unicron, to the Pit, where they may join with their master and...”

“Decepticons!” an acolyte called from the colonnade beyond. “A dark devil of a mech and minions of Unicron come to deny the AllSpark!”

BB, Swindle and Vortex must have done their job, the Seekers thought. At that, Slipstream shrieked as loudly and shrilly as she could. Sari slipped from her hold and slowly approached the AllSpark.

“She is possessed!” Sunstorm declared, “her mate's spark possesses her body to take righteous vengeance against the evil Decepticons by whom he was slain! Brother, you must grant us sanctuary here while I exorcise the wandering spark to his deserved rest. The power of the AllSpark will aid us!”

“Seal the chamber!” the attendant Priest ordered, “the defilers must not reach the AllSpark. Quick, we must protect our relics!” He dashed away most conveniently, leaving the disguised Seekers in the sealed chamber with the AllSpark.

Sari approached, the others watched, wondering if anything would really happen, or if something terrible may come to be.

“We have to keep making noise,” Sunstorm hissed. He then shouted, “Do not surrender to the shallow pleasures of the shell!”

Thundercracker beat a fist against the wall to mimic a struggle within, as Skywarp shouted in his best, shrill Starscream voice, “Vengeance will be mine!”

“Is anything happening?” Slipstream whispered, crouched low to speak at Sari's ear.

Sari did not answer for a klik, as the others continued to act out a violent exorcism. “We just had a conversation, again,” Sari said in English. “It's not easy to interpret; it doesn't speak with words. I think it saying something about equivalence or entropy...Neither can live unless the other revive...”

“It will not give you Starscream unless I also return,” Prowl said calmly.

Skywarp squealed at the sight of the ghostly Autobot.

“Prowl? It's really you?” Sari asked. She retracted her battle mask. “Prowl, the guys and me, we all miss you. But I understand...”

“Eyes leaking again?” Prowl asked kindly.

Sari laughed, even as she cried. “I understand if-”

“Is He in there?” Slipstream demanded, kneeling on the floor before the AllSpark. “I need to know! Is He gone forever? Can He come back?”

Dirge moved to lift Slipstream to her feet as Sari spoke with Prowl's ghostly form. “I just needed to know, if it was something you would have wanted. I wanted you back for selfish reasons, and I was afraid that if I somehow could make you come back, that you would not want it.”

“I understand how you feel,” Prowl said, “When my Master, Yoketron, went offline, I tried to revive him, but it was not his wish. He believed it was his time to go, and the future would be in an other's care.”

Sari nodded and blinked rapidly to clear tears from her eyes.

“I was content to go when I did, because it was for a good and just cause, but I am aware, through merging with the AllSpark, that there is a way for me to return, and that if I do, there is work for me that can help others.”

“Yes,” Sari rasped. “The Cyber-Ninjas especially, and Jazz, and 'Bee, and all of us!”

Prowl seemed to look at Slipstream who was leaning against Dirge; his claws stroked her arms and face in attempt to comfort. “I am able to speak for the AllSpark, while we are merged. It is in its power to restore Starscream's spark. It is willing to do this, if one Autobot, that is myself, is also restored.”

“Yes,” Slipstream said.

“And there is a further cost the AllSpark requests, in exchange for the sparks you wish returned.”

“What? The Shards? Vows? I can only make a vow for myself.”

“That is no way to bargain, My Sister, naming your valuables from the start.”

“It knows! Doesn't it?” She asked the ghost.

Prowl's form seemed to nod affirmatively. “The shards will be surrendered. This is not negotiable. As show of gratitude for surrendering the shards willingly, the AllSpark will grant each clone sustained by a shard a spark of their own, as it is not its will to take those lives it granted.”

“Then what more does it request?” Slipstream asked.

“It is for you, Slipstream, alone to promise,” Prowl's ghost said. “The AllSpark will put the knowledge in your spark, if you surrender your shard now.”

Slipstream gripped Dirge's shoulder, then released him and turned back toward the AllSpark. She put her left hand forward, claws closed in a fist, and touched her right hand to her chest. “I have two.”

“You had two all this time and did not share?” Dirge demanded.

“Why didn't you just give Him one?” Thundercracker asked.

Slipstream tipped her head and regarded Thundercracker, on her right, from the corners of her optics, “Because I didn't want some new spark. I wanted to be sure to get the old one back.”

“That might have been better,” Thundercracker said, then a little more quietly, “For me, anyway.”

Slipstream gave her full attention to the AllSpark as she opened the layers of access to reach her well-protected shard. Its small housing was nestled against her nosecone in root mode. “I am ready,” she said, and opened her fist to show the sizable shard in her hand.

“It asks if you wish another spark in exchange for that?” Prowl said, with odd ghostly amusement.

“What am I going to do with another spark?”

Skywarp giggled. “He means it can give you a new one to carry.”

“What? No! No...thank you.”

“The exchange will be made.”

Slipstream dared not move. She had expected something, disorientation or pain. There was nothing at first. The spark simply came to be within her, and as it did, the shard inside fell from its place with a light plink. Both shards then moved, drawn by the AllSpark, and merged with it.

It was then, after the spark had been within her a centicycle that Slipstream felt something different: a change. It was subtle perhaps, but immediately noticeable as something other than her previous state. It was, to Slipstream, a bit like diving, in that her consciousness flowed into every part of her shell. Before, she had sensory input to inform her of her surroundings, but now, it felt she could sense more than she could with the devices alone. The field that radiated outward from her spark interacted with all things around her. The AllSpark was an immense power; she could have located it with all her sensors disabled.

“Slipstream!” Thundercracker called authoritatively.

“Are y-you all right, Slipstream?” Skywarp asked.

Slipstream felt Dirge about to touch her and spun around. He stood, claws poised as if to grasp, intrigued. “Perhaps I could use a spark of my own. “

“Guess it's pretty bad,” Ramjet said. He and Sunstorm were near the door, listening for signs from without. 

“Did it tell you? Can you afford to restore our dear departed to life?” Sunstorm asked.

Slipstream turned, again, slowly this time, back to the AllSpark. She could see Prowl still, off to the left, where the priest had been. “I am functioning normally,” Slipstream told the others, still using English. “It does not hurt. Actually, it is sort of amazing.”

Behind her, the others discussed surrendering their own shards. Prowl had said the AllSpark would put the knowledge in her spark. A spark was not like a processor, it did not calculate; Slipstream supposed it felt. Then, Slipstream felt the offered price: she could have her creator back, if she agreed to do as the AllSpark prompted when in certain specific circumstances. The vow would not cause her harm or loss in any direct way. But, the price asked seemed devised specifically for her. To get Him back she would at times have to give very direct and wholly truthful answers.

“I understand the price. I vow to comply on my honor as a Seeker, on the name of Starscream, and on my very spark, I swear it.”

“I bet you two cubes this is all part of some calculated plot and she doesn't even like him,” Ramjet hissed to Sunstorm.

“Does that mean you actually believe otherwise, my most trustworthy brother?” Sunstorm asked.

Dirge glanced back and held five claws up to Ramjet. “I bet five cubes it turns out to be love.”

“Betting is beneath my station, but I say neither is true. It might just be sleeper-programming activated on his death to make Slipstream and Dirge resurrect him.”

'TC, you don't really believe that,' Skywarp flashed quickly.

Thundercracker shook his head.

“It's love, but she's mad about it,” Skywarp whispered to the others.

“Mad love,” Scalpel chirped.

Sari laughed.

“If the others will now surrender their shards, the AllSpark will grant them their sparks and then fulfill your request,” Prowl said to Slipstream.

She was trying to ignore the wagering and speculation going on behind her. They could keep on guessing. “You going to give the order, Sir? Slipstream called.

“Go on!” Thundercracker said, “The lot of you.”

“Sari,” the ghost of Prowl said, “You know where to find me. There will be nothing to cry about. I am at peace with this arrangement. Thank you.” 

Sari gave a firm nod to Prowl and watched as he faded from sight. She tapped on Slipstream's tail fins.

“You should leave now, Sari Sumdac. I am grateful for your assistance, but I would not advise you to stay until my creator awakens. We each got what we wanted, so no debts. We go our separate ways. Those were your terms.”

“Well, don't go thinking this means we're friends,” Sari said.

Slipstream walked across the room with Sari, to the door. It opened to them. “We will leave Cybertron before you put together a team to come after us, but if we should met on some other planet...”

“Whatever happens, happens,” Sari agreed. She put up her battle mask, peeked out around the door to see if her way was clear, then left.

“I want mine first!” Dirge said.

“And I don't want a spark at all,” Ramjet said, beside him.

Thundercracker stepped up and swatted both behind with his left arm. “I will go first.”

“Sunstorm, you want to have a spark, don't you?” Slipstream asked. She saw him looking at the stasis pod on the floor.

“I do, actually. I was just thinking how I am torn between loyalties. Two such humble and time-tested leaders. Who could I possibly side with.”

“I think that can be worked out.”

“Are you going to all this effort just for some amusement? To have someone to bicker with, or manipulate?”

Slipstream laughed. “That would be telling, Brother.”

Sunstorm made a gracious bow and went to join the others crowded about the AllSpark.

Once they were all near, the AllSpark gave the five remaining clones their sparks, and as with Slipstream, was able to draw the unneeded shards into itself. The realization came to the five at once. They could not view their own sparks, but the feeling of life and change was evidence enough.

Skywarp happened to see Thundercracker's spark, as he had stood close by, and the inner chamber was not yet sealed behind the armor. Involuntarily, Skywarp stretched out his clawed hand toward the other spark. “It's beautiful,” he said dreamily.

“No! Get away!” Thundercracker shouted. He put his hands over his chest and closed his new spark behind locked panels.

Skywarp dropped his hand. Sullen and spurned he bowed his head. “I wasn't going to hurt it.”

“It is private,” Thundercracker insisted.

“Yes, Sir. I understand. I did not presume to be worthy. I just...it sparkled, and it was really beautiful. Blue. Do they have different colors?”

“Yes, of course!” Thundercracker said, relaxing from his defensive stance and seeming more his usual egotistical and imperious self. “Yours was not blue. I quickly averted my gaze, of course, as is proper. My superior vision was sharp enough to perceive its color in such a brief time.”

“Well what color was it?”

“It was like that color when you warp.”

“There's no color when I warp.”

“Yes, there is. Are you insinuating that I would lie to you? There is a distinct emanation when you warp; it is on the end of the light spectrum, a bright violet.”

Skywarp wondered if Thundercracker really might have superior vision. He smiled. “You really do have excellent vision, My Lord. I would not lie to you, either. I did mean it when I said I would let no one pressure you about certain things; that would include myself.”

“Very good, Commander. Understood.” Thundercracker looked to the stasis pod. There was yet no sign of their departed creator. The others also were recovering from the newness of having sparks and wondering whether Starscream would be revived.

“Should we open it?” Dirge asked.

“Did you do what it wanted?” Skywarp whispered.

“Stop speaking the pathetic Earth language!” Thundercracker hissed in Decepticon.

“I only had to vow to do certain action in the future,” Slipstream said. “It will work. Maybe -”

There was a metal on metal clang from the stasis pod. Skywarp took a leap backward, away from the pod. Thundercracker attempted to straighten his posture even more and look imposing. Dirge bent to the latches on the side of the pod. “I want to see my creator,” he said as he unlatched the lid. Slipstream anxiously shifted so that she would be in position to see within the pod as soon as the lid was raised. The lid lifted slowly.

Starscream sat up and immediately aimed his arms, and thus the attached weapons, to his uncovered front and left flank. “Unextinguishable!?” he screamed.

“Starscream!” Slipstream cried happily and jumped into the pod and embraced the newly resurrected Seeker. She came at him so quickly, Starscream was unprepared; she pinned his fusion cannon and right arm to his side.

Fusion cannon? Since when do I have a fusion cannon, and a yellow-sorta-orange one at that? Starscream had no idea what was going on. He had nicely overclocked processing speed and he was a genius, so he could figure out that something had happened. The scale of the room and the surface treatments indicated Cybertron as a likely location, though he remembered recently being on Earth. He was aware his clones were around him. He couldn't decide yet if that was a good thing, or how they had all come back together again.

And, Starscream thought, wasn't Slipstream a bitter nag of a femme who took every possibly opportunity to tell him how inferior he was? He still had no clue what aspect of his personality she had been generously gifted with.

Well, there were worse ways to wake, he supposed. He had his own army, hopefully. He had powerful armaments and a cape of rich cloth. Cape, really? Yes, and a crown, too, if he was not mistaken about the light pressure against his helm. How long had he been in stasis, exactly?

Long enough that this one had missed him. Much as he expected her to say something cruel any second, Starscream did have to admit, only to himself of course, that he had produced one good-looking femme. Of course, considering the source material, one would expect something highly attractive to be created, so he was more surprised about the femme part, but he was not going to question why and how that had happened. Best to just enjoy the fact that he suddenly had his very own lap jet, cooing at him, scraping claws against his arms.

Oh, of course this wasn't really happening. A random series of images produced by a battle fatigued processor. Or, maybe Soundwave had come around and trapped him in this virtual reality. The uneasy flutter in his spark that he had learned to associate with potential courtship seemed all the more evidence this was all some mental construct and not reality at all. Most obviously, he shouldn't even have a spark. And besides that he had really bad luck when it came to these types of interpersonal relations.

Maybe, he thought, real or not, it might be best to play along. Couldn't hurt, right? It felt good to have a spark again. Megatron! He would have his vengeance, when he was in reality again. Was it narcissism to find Slipstream attractive? Who in the pit cared? Literally throwing herself at him had to be signaling intent. He was determined not to get involved in any courting in reality; it was all a waste. But, since this was all imaginary...

Starscream said in his most beautiful and sultry tone, “So, what did I do to bring this on?”

Slipstream snarled, sat straight and backed up and away from Starscream as fast as she could. She hated that slagging suggestive tone of his. Practically the first thing he had said to her ever had been in that tone and her life had been ruined forever! “You're a geek, Starscream!” She said angrily and left the AllSpark chamber, making certain to shut the door loudly.

Her fellow clones were all surprised. They had all had their own suspicions or predictions about what exactly had motivated Slipstream to concoct this whole plan to revive Starscream, but none of them had predicted that violent mood swing. But then, considering who was involved, they did have memories of Starscream going from “Die, Megatron!” to “No, don't shoot me!” in a nanoklik.

Reality crushed down upon Starscream. Not a good cycle. He really was alive and ensparked, on Cybertron, sitting dressed up like an emperor in a stasis pod. Not only had his own femme clone rejected his narcissistic response to her own seemingly narcissistic, but inexplicable attraction, but all these mechs had seen it.

Why were they dressed like some kind of...submersibles? And a priest? “Dirge?” Oh slag. “but that means...”

Dirge bent and looked at Starscream optic to optic. He smiled wide, almost smirked. “Yes. You died. Then we brought you back. Tell me what it was like. I want to know.”

“How badly?” Starscream quipped, lifting his new fusion cannon.

“I have one, too,” Dirge said proudly. He drew his own recently acquired fusion cannon from subspace. Starscream recognized it immediately.

“How did you get Megatron's cannon!?” he demanded shrilly.

“Mine!” Dirge said. “I let you have that one. I had doubles, and Swindle already has a really big gun, so it wasn't very useful as a bargaining tool. I was not going to just let Vortex get it.”

Of course, Starscream thought, Swindle and Vortex would be included in whatever insanity was going on. He climbed out of the stasis pod and did his best to look authoritative, which he realized, was aided greatly by his weapon and regal raiment.

Starscream started to speak, but Thundercracker and Skywarp only half listened, as Slipstream was coming them. “Aster-3 here. Sorry for going AWOL, Sirs, I am just in the large hall outside. Priests are returning. We should leave soon.”

Starscream was still talking, something about deserving to know.

“Ramjet. Sunstorm. Are you with us, or not?” Thundercracker demanded.

“I've decided to follow, for now, Sir,” Ramjet said. Of course, they were all going to follow up to the point at which they decided to defect or become mutinous.

“With, you, most well-supported leader.”

“You are Aster-5.” Ramjet. “And Aster-6.” Thundercracker pointed a claw at Sunstorm. “Try not to be too sarcastic when things are mission critical.”

Starscream watched with slight shock – he had always figured the ego as one to take over – and no small amount of jealousy and annoyance.

“Commander.”

“Move. I'm on point. You follow and stay alert. Aster-1 will guard rear.”

Starscream laughed, almost maniacally. Skywarp was their commander?

Dirge somehow stuffed the entire stasis pod into his pocket dimension before falling into formation behind Skywarp. Thundercracker remained behind, as Ramjet and Sunstorm moved out, to keep his optics on Starscream.

“Not taking the trinket?” Starscream asked.

“No, and neither are you. We made bargains to get you back, so do not make us have to kill you.”

“Why don't we just blow a hole in the roof and fly out?” Starscream suggested, studying the construction of the ceiling.

“What? Is the ceiling attacking you? Does it shelter artifacts our people may one day claim? You show such lack of respect, for anything. Your ignorance is astounding.”

Using the fusion cannon would be a serious power drain, anyway. Starscream would deal with the clones, when they were not all surrounded by Autobots. He turned on his heels and walked from the chamber.


	17. The Way We Were

Red Alert walked from the nearest roadway to Wheeljack's lab. It was located near the center of the city, within the southeast quadrant. At the entrance, she activated the call button to alert Wheeljack he had a visitor. Shortly, the Autobot inventor came to the door for her.

“Come on in,” Wheeljack said. Red followed along a short antechamber and the blast door opening into the lab proper. “We were just catching up.”

Red Alert saw Ratchet and Arcee were there. “I am sorry. I should have commed ahead. Hello, Ratchet, Arcee.”

“This is Red Alert,” Ratchet said to Arcee, “I am not sure if you have been formally introduced.”

“No. I only know the name by reputation,” Arcee said. “An Autobot scientist.”

“I can come back, if it's a bad time,” Red Alert offered.

“No. I haven't gotten much of a chance to see you either, recently. How are you doing?”

“Actually, I'm planning to go away, off-planet. I need some work done.”

“Sure. What kind of equipment do you need? I have this new thing...” Wheeljack liked to title himself an inventor, but Red Alert knew his mainstay was actually body work. Wheeljack was skilled at Reformatting, particularly machining new armor and altering transformation schemes.

“No, that is, I will take a look, but I wanted to ask you about doing some body work. It's personal, so...”

“I need to go, anyway,” Arcee said. “Omega might be lonely without one of us,” she said to Ratchet.

“I'll comm you soon,” Ratchet told her.

As Arcee left, Red Alert said, “that was not necessary.”

“Red Alert, I know you have been through some difficult things recently,” Ratchet said, “Remember what you said about medi-bots not being good patients? I just want to hear from you that you are not considering body work for the wrong reasons and doing something you may regret.”

“And what I decide is your business?”

“Red,” Wheeljack said. “I don't know what's been going on with you recently, but Ratchet's a friend. I know he would only say these things out of professional concern. Why don't you tell me what you were hoping for, and I will let you know if I can help.”

Red Alert took a calming breath. She did not distrust Ratchet's medi-bot experience and skill, nor did she doubt he could keep a confidence. Still, there was something about his kindly, but grouchy, elder-bot way of giving unwelcome advice that irritated her.

Red Alert decided to trust the two of them. “I need a full reformat, to a sports model.”

Wheeljack nodded silently and seemed to give the matter thought.

Ratchet was not so ready to give the idea its due consideration. “You are beautiful now, with an alt-mode well-suited to your duties. If there is a romantic interest related to this, if anyone has encouraged you to change...trust me, I have seen it all. You may come to regret the change.”

“Ratchet, when I interned with you, I had already received my final upgrade,” Red Alert said, trying to show the elder-bot patience. “But Wheeljack knows precisely what I am asking, because he saw me before that. I was created a sports model. I am only asking to go back; to undo the reformatting I underwent when I was younger.”

“It is true, Ratch',” Wheeljack said. “Red Alert here was created with the frame of a sports model. She had a rare adaptation, too, inherited from one of her creators. He acquired it through natural mutation of his CNA during protoforming. I was the one who did her reformat to a truck so she would have the mass to scan and take on a medical transport alt-mode more easily. It was one of the more interesting projects I was involved in.”

“Why do you want to change back?” Ratchet asked.

“Do I have to explain? It is my original form.”

“Well, I'd like to help you Red,” Wheeljack said, still seeming thoughtful, “but the truth is I was recently informed by Intelligence that they have a critical case. An agent was found with frame and armor completely crushed, but spark intact. They have him on spark support, but they need a suitable body as soon as possible. If you can wait, I can do the work for you in a few Decacycles, but otherwise the 'Bot I'd recommend is Ratchet.”

“I see. I had not heard about this Intelligence agent. Was it some kind of Decepticon attack?”

“I don't have the details, I think it's kinda 'hush hush', being as an agent got lost and crushed without the rest of the department knowing. A bit of a scandal for their department if it were all over the data-net.”

“Ratchet? Are you willing and capable of doing a reformat like mine?”

“I do still have the old schematics,” Wheeljack offered, “and if a few parts are still around, or we get spares from her creator's supply, the process can be completed rather quickly.”

“I made a fire truck cab fly, so I'm sure I can handle it.”

Red Alert laughed.

“Then you'll love this project. Red here was a flying car.”

“Eh? Like a hovercar. I've worked on some of those.”

“You've heard of Tracks, right?” Wheeljack asked.

“Of course.” He was all over the data-net. Even Ratchet had heard of him. Haughty blue mech that modeled mods and endorsed accessories and cleaning products. He was rumored to be rather wealthy from trading in the mods market. 

“Those cute 'wings' of his are functional flight stabilizers. He is Red Alert's creator; one of them. She's got rockets under that truck cab. They were fully integrated into her protoform layer, so we just covered them.”

“I understand a bit better, but I would still like to hear you say why you want this now, after all this time, Red Alert.”

“I realize I hinted to you that I had met someone, so I understand your suspicion. It is true I am recently dating, but that has nothing to do with my decision. I have started to realize that I missed the way I used to move. And I regret that my past choice hurt Tracks greatly.”

“There would have been some prejudices against a flight model among Autobots, back then.”

“Everyone talks about the twins as as if they are the first,” Red Alert said, and looked toward Wheeljack. They had both been involved in that project, along with Perceptor. “But when Tracks was younger, he heard a lot of talk about he must be part Decepticon. Others said that he had undergone experimental CNA manipulation. He got his adaptation naturally, and from Autobot progenitors.”

“He would like you to have kept your form, because it was like his?”

“Yes, I truly thought at the time that it was the best, maybe the only, way to perform my medi-bot duties. Maybe I felt it was a way to seem 'normal', to fit in with other 'Bots in emergency services. Now, I can see no reason I cannot practice with another alt-mode. I am also in the security forces, and I come from a line of Autobots known for being sports models as well as security and enforcement officers. To them, being a sports model and an emergency vehicle is perfectly logical: it means you reach the emergency faster.” 

“I suppose I see your point.” Bumblebee's Earth alt-mode was that of a sporty compact fitted with emergency lights; a car that on Earth that would transport a police officer quickly to the location of a crime, or emergency.

“I've recently spoken with my superiors. It is likely I will be assigned a new post. A smaller lighter build will be useful to me in that post, as well as the added speed.”

“If you will trust me, I will do the work for you. When do you want to start?”

“Immediately is fine.”

“You can use the equipment here,” Wheeljack said. “I'll be working on my own project, but there should be more than enough room.”

“Let me comm a few 'Bots to let them know I will be working, and then we will start by putting up those old schematics. Do you think you can contact Tracks?”

“I...I would rather not, but I can contact someone else who has access to his parts. It would really be better if he did not see me until the process is complete.” 

Red Alert knew that though Wheeljack had a residence separate from his lab, there was a loft in which he sometimes recharged after a long work session. She asked permission to go upstairs to comm. Red Alert went up the ladder-like stair to the loft above the lab proper, having a view of the workspace and bordering tall shelves teeming with devices and electronic components.

She commed Clamp Down and explained her situation. She knew she could trust him to keep the secret until the right time. Having donor parts from Tracks, and even Clamp Down would allow Ratchet to complete her restoration quickly, rather than after long decacycles of fabricating new parts.

When the communication was complete, Red Alert then commed Ramjet, using the scheme on which they had decided.

Ramjet was on the second of Cybertron’s moons, when he was alerted to the incoming comm from Red Alert. The signal was weak, but enough that he could lock-on and receive. 'Red!' he said, looking up at Cybertron. He could see the lights of Iacon on the surface and figured they would not long be in range to communicate directly. It was likely she was not relaying through hardlines and Autobot communications satellites. 'Are you compromised?'

'Yes,' Red Alert said in Autobot. She and Ramjet were not entirely fluent in each other’s languages, yet, but he had learned the most basic Autobot vocabulary, already.

'In danger? Or, just can’t be overheard?'

'Safe,' Red Alert said, 'It is a safe procedure.'

Ramjet only understood that she was safe, which meant that she was simply unable to have a lengthy conversation in Decepticon without raising suspicion of Autobots nearby. 'The others are not exactly in love with the neighborhood. They are not yet decided on a destination, but either way, I expect they will want to leave in a few decacycles.'

'Understood. I will try to make rendezvous. Can you wait? Stay?'

Ramjet understood Red was confirming her understanding of the situation and timetable. He knew she was saying that should would attempt to meet him. He was not sure about the other verbs. 'Are you concerned about meeting in the given time?' He asked.

'Yes.'

'I will wait, even if the others do not,' Ramjet promised. 'I will be safe.'

'I am pleased,' Red Alert said. The signal strength was already fading.

'Come to me when you are able,' Ramjet said quickly. He heard no answering reply and his comm system said the signal was lost. The moon in it’s orbit was passing out of range of Iacon.

Ramjet turned and looked to Dirge. Thundercracker and Skywarp had assigned various teams to their tasks. Ramjet understood the splitting of the group into small teams was a means to draw less attention and thus remain inconspicuous while they waited for a chance to leave Cybertron’s system. Why he’d been assigned to Dirge and Swindle he did not know, unless maybe someone thought he was responsible enough to keep them out of trouble. Ramjet hated being the responsible one.

He commed Sunstorm. 'Any word yet?'

'Nothing, my trustworthy brother. Still searching the trade nexus for repair and maintenance supplies with Uncle Vortex and The Doctor.'

'Same here. Junior and Uncle Swindle are supposed to be liquidating the remainder of the prisoners' effects, but the one keeps buying trinkets and the other keeps trying to scam the vendors.'

'One would think,' Sunstorm said thoughtfully, 'that such experienced merchants would know all the scams themselves.'

'Never crossed my CPU.'

Sunstorm trilled laughter over the comm.

'If I find any repair tools, I will be sure to keep them to myself; you know how greedy I am.'

'Maybe Skywarp knows something, he is so good at keeping himself valuable enough to the leadership that he has their every confidence.'

Ramjet laughed. 'Jealous? You?'

'Need to go. Scalpel found some spare energy absorbers and I was put in charge of our funds.'

Ramjet disconnected and walked after Dirge and Swindle, who were maniacally ogling over they accumulated loot and funds. He activated his comm system again to contact Skywarp.

'Hi, RJ!' Skywarp said cheerily.

'You hear anything about where we are going or when?'

'No. some of us want to go back to Luna, or Earth, but Starscream says we should go to New Kaon.'

'A Decepticon colony?'

'He said he had things saved there, was cackling at his own in-joke, something about saving for a rainy day. Isn’t that an Earth saying?'

'I’d love to know how it is you are such the expert on Earth, when you were there for all of a cycle.'

'It was more than a cycle, and as I explained to Starscream, when he was curious, in addition to his more recent memories, I did have a functioning comm system since I came online and radio signals do propagate into space and our wireless communication technology is far superior to that of the humans, so I was able to download terabytes in the short time I was there.'

Ramjet had been lying when he said 'love to know', but he didn’t both trying to explain to Skywarp. 'But, did he say why he wanted to go there, specifically?'

'No. He wandered off, actually, he was asked politely to accompany BB and me, but he left shortly before you commed. Maybe he’s gone to persuade Thundercracker he should agree to seek passage to New Kaon.'

'I will check in with Thundercracker, then.' Ramjet supposed that Starscream had not so much as gone to persuade Thundercracker as gone to see if he could manipulate Slipstream into allying with him against Thundercracker.

'Can’t talk now,' Slipstream said as soon as Ramjet’s comm was received.

'Star -'

'Yes. He’s coming. Can’t talk.' Slipstream disconnected and watched as Starscream came strutting toward Thundercracker and herself.

'Skywarp just commed me warning he was coming,' Thundercracker flashed to Slipstream.

Slipstream looked up at Starscream, over Thundercracker's shoulder and wing.

“It always inspires confidence when a leader leaves his back so exposed.”

Thundercracker kept his back to Starscream. “Yes, I know how you cowards like to take others from behind,” he said archly. At the same time, he flashed a message to Slipstream, 'If you wish my help in defending your honor, say it now.'

“I am sure you do,” Starscream said to Thundercracker in his rather suggestive tone.

'I can handle him, for now. Thank you,' Slipstream flashed and then tossing her head looked Starscream directly in the optics. “I am watching his back, My Liege. We simply did not fear any attack from you.”

Thundercracker turned then and regarded Starscream, as he moved even closer to Slipstream. “Decided it was no longer your wish to comply with our polite request to accompany Skywarp, My Liege?”

Starscream looked at Thundercracker in scrutinizing fashion. He sneered and said, “I invented every one of his coy manipulative ploys, as you should have well known. It is no use assigning him to get information from me.”

“So true, My Liege. Skywarp is not my Information Officer. So, feel free to remain with Slipstream while I go discuss strategy with my Second-in-Command.”

Starscream watched Thundercracker leave from the corner of his optics, then looked toward Slipstream, when he was certain Thundercracker was no longer an immediate threat. His bright eyes and smirk expressed cocky arrogance to Slipstream. The same was true for his energy field. Starscream's very presence radiated confidence, at the moment.

“My Liege?” Slipstream said pleasantly, anticipating the inevitable interrogation about her motives.

“Dear Slipstream,” Starscream said tone so smarmy, smug and obviously disingenuous to any that had known him for a length of time. It was that tone Sunstorm mimicked so well. “Do you mind telling me how I came to be titled?”

“Not at all,” Slipstream said, doing her very best to seem compliant and attentive, “Since it is obvious someone of your long experience as a high-ranking Decepticon officer would not wish to acknowledge Thundercracker as your leader, neither would you, being so intelligent, challenge him while he has so many supporters, we decided the best solution was to grant you a position as our Liege and political leader, while Thundercracker remains unchallenged as our military leader.”

“And I am supposed to be content to be some figurehead while Thundercracker makes all the real decisions?!” Starscream ranted. He looked imposing and spoke forcefully, but Slipstream felt his field lose confidence. 

“Why assume the position has no real authority. We are agreed to call you our Liege. Think about it. With so many highly-ranked Decepticons in Autobot prison, Thundercracker, and you as his Liege, have great power and influence. Is this not what you have always desired? The ability to be a Decepticon leader? To have influence over the manner in which the Decepticon cause is perceived and applied?”

That did sound like what he had long wanted, Starscream had to admit.

“Do not be so quick to dismiss Thundercracker. I also had doubts at first; thought his ego would work against his effectiveness as a leader, but I was able to see that he truly had the ability to show consideration for his subordinates without seeming weak for it. We all chose to follow him, for our own reasons. I chose him. He is not a bad leader, only somewhat inexperienced, but it's also clear he draws on your memory for guidance. So, really, you have influence even on his decisions, because Thundercracker has learned from watching you and Megatron both.”

“It is a good argument,” Starscream admitted. He was then quick to add, “I will have to observe his skill for myself. I think I found you more trustworthy when you were insulting me.”

Slipstream smirked and leaned closer to Starscream. “Oh? Does my too-eager-to-please tone seem disingenuous? Do you mean to say to say you would prefer me to interact with you in a more straightforward manner than shower you with platitudes? Do I offend you by trying too hard to attract your attention and cooperation?”

“Your sarcasm is much preferable,” Starscream said, sarcastically.

“Can you seriously not take a hint?” Slipstream demanded, bitterly, angrily; and then she felt a pain in her spark. Was this the sign, she asked herself. Was this particular sensation the signal from the AllSpark that she must be direct and honest at this moment or risk loosing what she actually liked about Starscream? Focus, she told herself. Remember how dangerous it is to get over-emotional. It makes you fail. “Starscream,” she said then, levelly, and softly.

“What?” he snapped.

“There is something I have been meaning to say to you for some time.”

“Maybe why you apparently went through so much effort to resurrect me only to act like it was the last thing you ever wanted to do?” Why couldn't Slipstream make more sense, Starscream wondered, she was always so hateful toward him, always answering questions with questions, or just avoiding a subject.

Slipstream caught Starscream's optics with her own. His were narrowed by shutters and dimmer than usual, which she took to mean he was suspicious. “I want to apologize to you,” Slipstream said sincerely, “In the past, I said some things that I came to regret. I behaved angrily toward you, because I was upset by something over which you had no active part or control. I should not have directed my anger toward you. I truly regret it. I do not think you slow in any way, I actually believe you to be quite brilliant. And I do not think you are a bad leader. I should never have said I would prefer to follow Megatron. I said that for the wrong reasons, not for any valid reason upon which an intelligent being should base such a vote of confidence.”

Starscream did not know how to respond. Slipstream sounded sincere, but he was not yet certain it was not another act. That she would so humbly retract her previous insults fueled his ego. He was flattered that she thought him brilliant. He did not even know how to define what her sincerity inspired in him.

The courtship protocols, which Slipstream had already triggered once, came to the fore of Starscream's processor, but he ignored them again, indicating neither yes or no and left them to run in the background, with his other unrealized potential courtships. He had no intention of courting Slipstream, and was not certain how he might react if she indicated she might be the one to court him. He really had no intention of courting any of his clones, and very little intention to court at all. He'd decided a long while ago that it was all pointless. He believed it was possible Slipstream could be a pleasurable companion for a time, but the true result of courting was meant to be continuation of their species. The scientist in him knew no two Cybertronians so closely related – a clone was practically a twin – should be mated. It was physically possible, but simply inadvisable, as it would only limit the genetic viability of and variety within their dying race as a whole. They would need an unrelated third, and Starscream could not imagine after ages of being unsuccessful at even finding one, that he could expect to find yet another. He had given up on hope.

Slipstream was concerned that Starscream had given no answer. She could feel the sort of cold feeling in his energy field. “Starscream.”

He had never realized his name had such a pleasant ring when she spoke it. He had been too fixated on his schemes or irritated to notice it before. Skywarp had been the one to explain to him that Slipstream was the instigator of his resurrection. He had mentioned that for a long time she had refused to speak his name, and the other clones had taken this to be some form of grieving. It took a lot of effort to say the name of one's intended without sounding pleasant; he knew from experience.

“You, Slipstream...” It was probably evident from the way he spoke her name. It was probably hurtful. That she had refused to speak his name so long conveyed an understanding of the feelings it would betray. He would have to find some pet name to call her.

“Yes,” she whispered. She understood no avoidance or evasion would help her in this. She had a strong urge to say something cruel; to say 'you wish!' or 'as if!'. “The protocols have triggered twice in my brief life, and they were both you.”

“You mean, came up again, after being triggered the first time.”

“No, I mean, two sets are running even now and they are both you.”

“You aren't maybe my narcissism?”

Slipstream did not know how he had not figured that out yet. “Geek, if I were, I'd only have love for myself.”

“Then...?”

“The moment I came online. Before I actually saw you, when my systems were still booting, I accessed a memory. I was self-aware and recognized that my memories were really yours, that you are Starscream and I am not. And that you in the memory, when you were younger...I believed I had found my intended. Then, I beheld the present you. That is why I reacted so bitterly. I felt as if my intended had been destroyed by what you had become. A little later, I saw you preparing to go to battle in the mines, you had removed some of your armor. I triggered on you again, but somehow I perceived you as so different from the past version, that my processor registered a second intended and a second set of active protocols. Probably, if some time-traveling version of you from the future came to me, I would trigger on that one, too.” 

“I am sorry,” Starscream whispered. He truly knew nothing more adequate to say. “I am so sorry.” When he died, Slipstream must have felt she had lost her potential intended again, maybe twice over. She had discovered his deactivated shell. She had regretted never speaking her intentions. “I really am sorry.”

“I know. I understand now that it isn't going to work between us, but I had to be sure. I needed you back to know for certain.”

“Why wouldn't it work?” Starscream demanded. Forgetting his own determination not to court anyone, he felt suddenly offended that Slipstream could so easily dismiss his worthiness when he, Starscream, had triggered her courtship protocols not once, but twice. How dare she just go and decide it would not work!

“Because I have realized why you were angry with Megatron.”

He had millions of reasons to be angry with Megatron! What kind of evasive indirect answer was that? So easily dismiss their obvious mutual attraction and then not give a straightforward answer as to why?! Starscream was going to make her explain, or else convince her she was wrong! He was Starscream, slag it! He was the most handsome Decepticon. He was a brilliant genius. He was the best, most agile, fastest flier there was! It was his choice not to court. N-not some failure to inspire others to court him as he so rightfully deserved. He would make Slipstream see it could work. He would make her court him, if it was the last thing he did!


	18. Mid-life Crisis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a concept suggested by ditzymusiclover on the tf_bunny_farm community on livejournal, a quote suggested by vox00 also on tf_bunny_farm, and a Furmanism.

The last piece of armor was plugged into place and its nanites bonded to Red Alert's shell. She was whole again, rather, she was better than ever before. Last she had been a sports model, she had still been in her youngling stage. She had chosen to reformat at the time she had been expected to get her final sports model form and abilities.

“How do you feel?” Ratchet asked.

“Right. It feels right,” Red Alert said quietly, “this really was the correct choice.”

“We should still do a few tests. Try moving around. Then, we'll see if you can transform.”

Wheeljack came to them from where he had been working on blue armor for the Intelligence agent. “Looks good, Red! Tracks will blow a gasket!”

She hoped not. Red Alert tried walking. It felt different than she remembered, but it seemed Ratchet had done his work well; her programming was updated to work with her new parts and transformation scheme. It had probably been a good choice to let Ratchet do the work. Wheeljack was very skilled with the structural and mechanical work, but Red Alert remembered him having to consult Perceptor on some changes to her code.

“Try to transform.”

Red Alert let herself fall back, and caught her weight on her outstretched arms. She raised the rear storage compartment from her back, and at the same time, kicked up her legs. Red Alert quickly spun her lower half as she pressed her legs together. Her weight settled to her front tires, beneath the hood where her legs had been. Pushing off the ground with her hands, she quickly tucked in her arms to fold out the tires attached to her shoulders. Her frame landed with a light bounce as weight was distributed between her four tires. Now her bipedal root form was for all appearances replaced by a sleekly angular white sports car with red detailing.

“Feels good,” Red Alert said, then revved her engine. She did a donut on the floor of the lab, turning as tightly as she was able. She transformed back to root mode, pushing off with her arms, which were folded into her under body, to gain clearance enough for the shifting of her parts from one mode to another. She ended the transformation in a crouch and then stood.

The transformation appears smooth from either mode,” Ratchet observed, “Did you sense any binding or scraping?”

“No,” Red Alert said, pleased and now twisting in attempt to see as much of her back as she was able. “The articulation is perfect. No loose, rough or sticky areas.”

Ratchet shrugged. He knew he did good work. “Try not to damage yourself too soon.”

Red Alert smiled at the grouchy tone. “How do you want me to repay you? Credits, energon, supply of mods and accessories?”

“Oh, I am not really accustomed...”

“I know you take no extra pay for what is your duty, but this was personal. Surely you can accept repayment.”

“Just a small quantity of energon that I might share with my friends.”

“I will arrange the transfer now,” Red Alert promised, “You did excellent work, Ratchet, you deserve it.”

Ratchet nodded. He understood that there was a difference between them. It was not only age. As much as Red Alert devoted time to working with other emergency service 'Bots and served the Autobots as medi-bot and security team member, she had always known a life of privilege. 

“Will you go see Tracks?” Ratchet asked.

Red Alert looked from Ratchet to Wheeljack and back. “Yes, It is time I made things right between us.” Before she left Cybertron, Red Alert thought.

Tracks currently resided in a downtown row house with a ground-floor garage. Some city-dwelling Autobots who had noble lineage, wealth or prestige preferred to live in high-rise towers. Some chose large houses with land for private racing. Tracks loved the feeling of being where the action was, near the streets and in the middle of the large Cybertronian metropolis. He liked driving through a lit city of glowing billboards, signs, traffic signals and so many head and taillights.

He was typical of what other Autobots called a 'downtown type'. Rather than attend galas, political functions and charity events with the most influential of uptown Autobots, Tracks, despite having wealth, chose to spend his time at nightclubs, art galleries and private parties in boutiques, lofts and hip oil houses.

Red Alert did not really know how Tracks had come to spend his life with two 'Bots in law enforcement, but the older and more experienced she became, the more she suspected that Tracks found the inherent risk in crime fighting attractive. His other friends, tended to be fellow downtown types, including artists and musicians. There were always a lot of acquaintances around as well, but Red Alert knew Tracks only had a few he counted as actual friends.

She pulled up in front of his house and transformed. The stoop leading to the second floor entrance seemed ominous, when it had once seemed home. Red Alert could see light and movement of silhouettes in the windows and expected there were guests at the house. 

Red Alert walked slowly up the front steps, then tapped the call button. She could hear movement within and shortly the door was opened to her. Tracks was there, looking at her. They had not spoken in some time; had been estranged, though Clamp Down or Deep Cover had informed each how the other was doing. Tracks looked much the same, His narrow, angular blue optics and red faceplate coloring were traits Red Alert had inherited, as were the small red and white wings mounted behind the shoulders. There was some similarity in the dark coloration of the protoform layer, which showed through at unarmored sections. Tracks was easily distinguished by his particular bright blue and curvaceous alt-mode, which showed in root-mode as sections of blue armor. Red Alert's alt-mode was now very similar to that of Clamp Down.

They continued just looking at each other for at least a klik, neither knowing what to say. Then, a voice called for Tracks from within the house. This seemed to draw him from his thoughts. “Lovey, you look absolutely gorgeous!” he told Red Alert. “Do come in; it has been too long.”

As much as Red Alert really disliked his pet name for her, she smiled and entered the house. They entered a parlor and Red Alert was able to see the guests.

Blaster was a band leader who had several small symbionts able to transform into instruments such that he or one of the other band members could play the transformed 'Bots. Much of their band's entertainment value came from the various members transforming and switching between player and instrument as the composition called for different sounds. Red Alert knew the band to be frequent guests.

She had not expected to see Sunstreaker and Bulkhead, much less together. Sunny, as some called him when he was not listening, was the type of 'Bot Tracks usually saw about the city, but did not have as a guest to the house. They were rivals in many things, including races and narcissism; and Sunstreaker tolerated Tracks attending gallery events with him, only because he knew Tracks did have sincere appreciation for art.

It appeared he and Bulkhead had been painting.

Tracks took Red Alert's hand to draw her into the room. “You know Blaster and his band,” he said, “You may remember Sunstreaker. And this is Bulkhead; he's a newly discovered artist. Did you know he had been doing maintenance work on space bridges?”

“I actually like working on...” Bulkhead began to speak.

Tracks went on talking over the large green Autobot. “His team members, Team Optimus, they do not appreciate his art. But, Sunstreaker has been good enough to take him under his tutelage.”

Red Alert did not know what to say and waved to Bulkhead, whom she had met at the prison.

“This stunning femme is my own dear creation, Red Alert,” Tracks said haughtily, but that was his way.

“Wow, Red, you look different!” Bulkhead said.

Sunstreaker just looked at her coldly; his normal disposition was anything but 'sunny', which was why the nickname was so amusing to others. Tracks usually excused this behavior by saying such temperament should be expected from such a brilliant and misunderstood artist. Red Alert realized that the combination of Clamp Down's alt, Tracks's transformation scheme and her own coloring, she looked rather like she had intended to make herself look like Sunny, if paler.

“Are you going to model, or not?” Sunstreaker demanded.

“I wouldn't mind taking a break,” Bulkhead said.

“When the inspiration strikes, you do not take breaks,” Sunstreaker advised, sharply.

“Suffer for your art. Got it!” Bulkhead said, repeating the lesson in order to commit it to memory.

“Lovey, I did promise them,” Tracks explained.

“I just need a few kliks in private, please.”

Tracks looked to his guests and then to Red Alert. “Excuse us a klik, chums,” he said, “Allow your model to refresh himself.”

Red Alert went with Tracks to the turbolift and from it to the next floor, where the private rooms of the home were located. There was still a small chamber here, left as when she had last lived here. A room for a studious youngling who also loved to race. The walls were hung with racing trophies and science awards.

“Why did you-?” Tracks started, but did not seem able to finish.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Red said. She sucked in air through her intake and released a cool breath. “First, I should say, that I did regret that my past choices hurt you. I truly believed I was doing what was best for my career. I have decided, for myself, to go a slightly different path now. Even so, I hope you also can have some happiness for me, or forgive me.”

“I have already forgiven everything.”

“I am glad of that,” Red Alert said. “There is something else.”

“Yes, Lovey?”

“Well, I've met someone. We're dating. I might love him. I am not sure, but I like him very much, and I feel...positive things when he is near.”

“Will you bring him to visit?”

“He is not an Autobot,” Red Alert told Tracks.

“I see.”

“But he is very good to me, protective, careful. I know he loves me.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Not that we are dating, I mean, no Autobots know, but I think Smokescreen and Rodimus have started to suspect...something. I am going to go away for a while. I do not want to hurt you, but I fear I may. I understand that others can not always see it, but you worry for me, for all those you love, and your close friends.”

“You have always been the same way, you learned not to show it so much, but you always felt things strongly.”

“There are possibly going to be rumors. I have some understanding of how you suffered when you were younger. I do not want to cast any doubt on our family. I-I talked to Perceptor, Rodimus and Cliffjumper. They will believe that I have found a means to insinuate myself into a certain non-Autobot sub-faction and will operate as a spy for them.”

“But to anyone else who spots you, it will seem you actually defected.”

“I am sorry if it causes you pain.”

“Lovey, we are used to it now, with Deep Cover's long-term assignments. We, Clamp Down and I, we know where loyalties lie. I know who my true friends are. Or do you think me so shallow?”

“Tracks...no. I do not believe you are shallow. I know...I mean that, as I get even older, I understand more of the world. I-I am proud to be your offspring. You have been an excellent caretaker. An excellent role model, in ways that outsiders cannot even guess.”

Tracks stepped in and embraced Red Alert. “I am sorry I pushed you away.”

“I am sorry, too.”

“Is he a Seeker?” Tracks asked.

Red Alert tensed, felt panicked.

“Take a breath. We are safe. Find your calm.” Tracks knew how to talk her down from a panicked or hyper state; he had done it since she had been a sparkling.

Red Alert took a calming breath. “Ramjet. How did you know?”

“Lovey, you showed keen interest in Seekers even before you met that schoolmate you always raved about.”

“Starscream. It never happened with him, but it did with Ramjet, who is his clone.”

Tracks laughed.

“Are you not sad, or upset, or disappointed?”

“As I said, I know who my true friends are. They are not the ones who accuse me of being a Decepticon just because I fly. True friends do not see faction or gender or alt-mode or anything so trivial. They just see you.”

Red Alert took a step back, but maintained contact my taking Tracks's hands in hers. “It is like that with Ramjet. He can see me. Tracks, I have to go to him, now. He's waiting.”

Ramjet had indeed been waiting. Waiting for Red Alert to arrive or send word. Waiting for his sibling Seekers to arrange transport. Waiting for their destination to be finalized. For a few decacycles there had been nothing else to do. They had already found what useful supplies they could in the trade nexus. Now they just waited.

Even teasing Starscream was beginning to lose its entertainment value. Speak of the Dark God..., Ramjet thought to himself as Starscream entered the Cybertronian housewares store where Ramjet was loitering and basically trying to avoid the streets or being recognized as a wanted fugitive. “There you are. What are you doing here?”

Ramjet smirked and look sidelong at their template. “Picking out patterns for the ceramics my intended and I expect to receive upon making our vows,” he deadpanned. This was entirely a lie, but it had the desired effect of making Starscream look irritated.

“Whoever your intended really is, they better arrive soon. Dirge and Swindle found us a freighter that can take us to New Kaon.”

Ramjet shrugged at the news. “I told you, Megatron is my sweetie.”

“Lies,” Starscream hissed. He was so irritated. Ramjet had picked the name randomly, because he thought it such an outrageous and obvious lie that Starscream would know not to keep asking questions. That Starscream was so personally offended that anyone was Megatron's intended was all that kept Ramjet amused.

“He's more romantic than you think. Did I tell you how he defended my honor in the yard, or how we snuggled in our cell?”

“He wouldn't do those things!” Starscream insisted. “And I asked Vortex and he told me Megatron was in maximum security, no where near you and only arrived shortly before you escaped.”

It was hilarious that Starscream had actually gone and asked around in order to be assured Ramjet had been lying. “Yes, Vortex is so honest and reliable. I'd trust him with my own sparklings.”

“Just!” Starscream made a ridiculous twitchy gesture. “Your leader needs you to help carry some supplies to the freighter.”

“Thundercracker has you running messages for him now?”

“I volunteered, as a favor.”

“So, the other's wouldn't give you any more information and you thought you'd try getting me to confess. I told you, it's someone from prison. Probably someone you deeply wished to court, but never did. You will just have to wait and see.”

Starscream looked suitably irritated. He was irritated, in fact. “I never 'deeply wished' to court Megatron,” he snarled as Ramjet strode away; he then went his own way back to the port. Starscream was seriously beginning to think he'd rather be dead. Things had actually seemed to be going well for him right after he revived; things no longer seemed so. He was not going to get revenge on Megatron unless he first broke into an Autobot prison, and thanks to his clones, the Autobots were now more on guard than before. Optimus Prime had been the one to defeat Megatron. His supposed clone army all thought he was a joke now. And the clones, not even an Earth year old yet, all seemed to be courting, or at least they were awfully familiar with each other and their rapidly growing number of hangers-on.

Why? Was there some scientific explanation? They were him. They had his memories, though they had not lived them. Why were they all so different? He did not understand. They treated him as if her were some doddering elder-bot with a failing processor. Had he really been so cocky and irreverent and full of himself when he was that young?

Oh. Maybe he had been.

Still, why did he have to put up with them now? They acted like they were better than him. They made him feel as if he had been replaced. They were not so smart. Wait until they got a little experience. Then they would see...

Oh dark mysteries of the universe! Starscream suddenly realized: he was middle-aged. Where was the pretty young thing to stroke his ego? Oh, right, “It isn't going to work between us”. And how had he gotten to this stage without having the older paramour to get jealous of the new younger one?

Starscream stopped, having come to the area where the various spacecraft were parked near the currently deactivated space bridge; he saw her. She looked just like she had when they had gone to the academy together. Fate was cruel. Red Alert, the first mech or femme to ever trigger his slagging courtship protocols, was Ramjet's mysterious intended.

Starscream moved closer, secretly horrified, but drawn toward them all the same. They did not know; he was certain. They might know about two certain potentials, because they were in the memories, and they may count Slipstream, who was most recent, but the first two had been long ago, when he was young; they should not know of them. Red Alert should not even know. He had refused to admit his interest to his academic rival. How was it Ramjet had seemed to know? Had he only guessed?

“This is what I once was, long ago, beautiful, don't you think?” Red Alert asked playfully.

“Are all sports models so narcissistic?” Ramjet teased.

“Red Alert,” Starscream said quietly as he approached.

She turned her head toward him and smiled, as if actually pleased a high ranking Decepticon was alive, free and right in front of her. “Starscream!” she said happily. Red Alert knew nothing of what Starscream was thinking; when she looked at him now, she saw her old schoolmate. “They really did it! They really brought you back.”

“Yes. It was largely Slipsteam's plan, I understand.”

“Oh, I know all about her plan,” Red Alert said, now looking over her shoulder to where Slipstream stood near the freighter.

“Well, you look good, considering....”

“I just had restoration work done. You won't believe the things I can do now!”

Starscream laughed mockingly, “Was age taking its toll?”

“Doesn't matter. Ramjet likes older femmes.”

Ramjet found this amusing. He was certain now his creator had been attracted to Red in the past. His behavior was just too awkward to explain otherwise. Of course, Ramjet was with her for his own reasons, but that he had succeeded where Starscream had failed was just brilliant.

Dirge sidled up to Starscream and patted his shoulder armor. “If you want to talk, I will hear your concerns. Talk to me. You will feel better.”

Starscream glared at Dirge. Their youngest was a little creepy. He did not merely crave material possessions and currency, like his new pal, Swindle. Dirge wanted intangible things as well: knowledge, secrets, relationships, confidences, loyalties. Starscream did not know why Swindle and Vortex were still around, now Scalpel and Dirge had seen they had working energy absorbers and all their belongings returned. It was suspicious to say the least.

“You may have my thanks for asking,” Starscream said, “That is it.” Were his emotions so easy to read, Starscream wondered. Or were his emotions apparent to the clones only because they were him, after a fashion? He had long worked to suppress expressing his emotions, learned to consider doing so a weakness and a danger, yet they did occasionally get the better of him. He was only admitting to occasionally.

“I am happy to have your gratitude, My Creator. Your thanks is most welcome.”

Starscream felt like he had no allies. Maybe he had never had allies, only others he used to get what he wanted, and others that used him.

He hadn't really cared about that before. Why should he now? He could just leave. Forget that they called him Liege. Forget that he was becoming jealous of how they were so like him, except happy, with true bonds of loyalty and true appreciation for each other.

No, he was better off on his own. Didn't have anyone relying on him. Didn't have to rely on others, and get disappointed. Didn't...have anyone.

Why? Why did he feel so wretched and needy? Lost now, without such a clear purpose as domination or revenge. Why did he long for things he had long since sworn off? He had been a slagging mess ever since he was resurrected.

Death, Starscream supposed, had a curious effect on one, and resurrection, perhaps, more so. Maybe, he should consider his past life just that. This was his chance to do something new, something better. He had a chance to be someone better. Succeed where he had failed. Do things the way they should have been done but never were. Starscream had been given a second chance.

Starscream just had to decide how to make the most of this chance.


	19. Everything I Need to Know

Thundercracker did not want to chance having Skywarp's ability to hi-jack the Autobot's space bridge network so widely known that they became targets. Those who had seen them arrive on the port of the second of Cybertron's moons, had not been those to see Skywarp activate the gate on the other side. Team Chaar had seen Skywarp activate the gate, and had also had time enough to spread word, before being captured by Autobots; that other Decepticons might try persuading Skywarp to serve them was risk enough. Thus they were depending on this scrap-destined freighter and its shifty crew of reptile-like organics to get from Cybertron to New Kaon in the galaxy's outer rim.

The accommodations were less than ideal, by some great measure. They had one private room, which Thundercracker had decided would be shared over the course of their journey, and liquidless wash facilities designed for large, space-faring, reptilian species and their particular excretions. However the fare was inexpensive and a long journey together gave them time to plan their strategy.

Thundercracker was determined that, before they reached New Kaon, he would learn the talents, weaknesses and motivations of all eleven subordinates and hangers-on. He included Starscream among the latter. He had relied on Skywarp not being one he had to worry over, but his Second had been oddly distant in demeanor and physical proximity since they had received their sparks. Thundercracker had some notion what caused this change, but he was uncertain how best to remedy the situation. He was even less certain about the others.

Slipstream caught Thundercracker looking at her rather intently, from across the ship's cargo hold, but when no comm or flash came, she went back to her work. She and Dirge were seated on the floor of the hold, given semi-privacy by the three walls of the inner hull and cargo containers either side. Her youngest brother had acquired a great amount of stuff. Some of it might be junk or scrap, but a lot of it was quite useful. Slipstream's plan was to both avoid Starscream and re-focus Dirge on his scientific projects by helping Dirge take inventory and while doing so, suggest applications or uses for his collected items.

Of course, trying to avoid Starscream only served to draw his interest. He sauntered toward them, in that particular fey manner of his that made Starscream appear always about to take flight. It was a trait Slipstream found annoyingly attractive.

Starscream sat himself beside Dirge. As he settled, somehow seeming, even with legs folded on the floor, a thing that would leap into flight, Scalpel pried open his cockpit from the inside and skittered up onto Starscream's shoulder. Starscream smiled, which was disturbing to most who knew him in that it was not smirk, outrage or dull surprise at being accused of something he was only pretending not to have done. He dispensed an energon goodie, from gauntlet to palm, and offered it then to the tiny doctor. Scalpel looked somehow pleased; not all of the Seekers found his expressions easy to understand, as his face was mostly mandibles, whiskers and eyes hidden by spectacles. It was the particular way he leaned toward Starscream's neck, as he fed himself the goodie with one claw, that expressed something like affection.

“Teacher's got his pet back,” Dirge observed.

“I knew there was a reason I found him creepy,” Slipstream said; she still was not on very friendly terms with Scalpel, though she occasionally tolerated repair.

“It is nothing so inappropriate for a professor and his pupil,” Starscream said, “Scalpel simply finds highly intelligent minds to be stimulating, in a strictly academic and intellectual sense.” 

“Skywarp!” Scalpel chirped.

“Yes,” Starscream agreed, then said, “I am afraid I am no longer teacher's favorite.”

“I give you treats,” Dirge said defensively, “I am intellectually stimulating.”

“But can you play chess against your own avatar?” Slipstream asked.

“That is not possible without cheating. It is like playing both sides yourself.”

“Watch him closely when he's playing with this 'doll',” Slipstream advised, “Skywarp's got some complex coding going on in his head. He helped Thundercracker develop the space bridge remote control hack, and he has a seriously modified avatar. It could be a semi-autonomous AI, like some kind of slave running under control of the main processor. Scalpel's actually seen Skywarp's code recently, so he knows.”

“I want the title of favorite for myself!”

“My Brother,” Slipstream said coolly, “you know there are different ways of acquiring what you want.”

“Take, be given, purchase, bribe, find, make...”

“Earn?”

“Genius.” Dirge dropped the subject and began pulling more items from his transwarp pocket dimension.

“Where are...Turbofox and Cybercat?” Starscream whispered.

“Who?” Dirge asked.

“Uncles,” Scalpel said.

“Right, no sparkling memories.”

“I want more memories. Give them to me.”

“Just the recharge tale. You would have gotten my clever reference...”

“It kinda kills the joke when you explain it afterward!” Slipstream complained.

“Ah, speaking to me and bitter as ever.” Starscream smirked as he heard no further complaint from Slipstream. “There was an old automaton maker named Jettrion who had no mate or sparklings of his own...”

“Autobot or Decepticon?” Dirge asked.

“Doesn't matter. He crafted an automaton from various gears, levers and pulleys, which he had found outside a wizard's laboratory.”

“Are you debating Atechnogenesis?” Sunstorm asked. He had heard a phrase that caught his attention and now stood nearby.

“No, Starscream decided to tell us this sparkling recharge tale so we could get his clever references in the future,” Slipstream explained. 

Starscream continued the story, with the three clones and Scalpel listening. He explained that before Jettrion could install his automaton's programming, the Automaton began to move and speak on it's own. The automaton, which Old Jettrion called Meccogio, was self aware and asserted that he wanted a spark of his own, so he could be a real sparkling, instead of an automaton.

“Who wanted a sparkling?” Skywarp asked from a perch atop one of the cargo containers.

Sunstorm explained that Starscream was telling them a story. Skywarp stayed to listen as Starscream continued. He told his growing audience about the adventures of Meccogio. Once he threw a hammer at a cogcricket, whose ghost then became his companion and advisor. Another time, convinced Primus would reward his good behavior with a spark, Meccogio was on his way to the temple to attend lessons with sparklings, but was waylaid and found his way to a pleasure palace instead, where the bearded proprietor tried to get him to entertain guests.

“What risque stories are you telling?” Thundercracker demanded, as he stroked the stripe growing-in on his chin.

Skywarp asked Thundercracker to please be quiet, and told him that Starscream was telling a story appropriate for sparklings.

“And then two swindlers Tubofox and Cybercat...” Starscream continued. “...told Meccogio if he buried his energon cubes in a 'miraculous' scrap yard they would multiply...”

“Miraculous my sine function,” Ramjet snarked. He and Red then stood not far from Sunstorm.

“Roger,” said BB, peering over the top of one container.

Again, Starscream continued, relating how Meccogio was lured to Paradron and made friends with a skinny youngling named Lamppost.

“Meccogio?” Swindle asked. He sat atop another container with Vortex. “It sounds like we missed the best part. When Turbofox and Cybercat dig the energon cubes out of the scrap yard.”

“Yes, the part with Turbofox and Cybercat,” Vortex repeated. 

The others, who had listened to the story, laughed. Even those who had not heard Starscream's appellation for the two mercenaries, now saw the parallel between the two Decepticons and the confidence mechs in the story. Vortex had even repeated Swindle's words, as Cybercat did Turbofox's.

With a dramatic sigh, Starscream continued the story to its finish. He explained how the green-haired fleshling helped Meccogio and that in the end, Meccogio did receive a spark and he and Jettrion lived happily ever after.

“So, the point of this whole story is that sparkling who hope to get their next upgrades should believe in Primus, do good, not do idle things, and be certain to go to temple or academy to further their education?” Slipstream asked, bitterly.

“I would consider it 'be obedient', rather than 'do good', but, yes, it is common for sparkling tales to include moral lessons.”

“If these tales are so fundamental to the development of Cybertronians, why did you give us only memories of war and plots for vengeance?” Slipstream asked directly.

“Because I created you as tools, weapons. I wanted you to only know war and vengeance.”

There was silence for a klik. It seemed significant that Starscream would admit this.

“You just openly admit it?” Slipstream ranted, breaking the silence.

“Number Three, stand down,” Thundercracker ordered, “We all knew that was the case. It had been obvious from the start. It is partly why you are so angry.”

Slipstream stood and walked past Thundercracker, to exit the cargo hold. Starscream stood and passed Scalpel up to Skywarp. Sunstorm spoke to him, as Starscream tried to find somewhere not quite as crowded. “I for one thought it an admirable admittion and surprisingly honest and...”

“Death changes a mech,” Starscream grumbled.

“It was nice of him to tell the story,” Skywarp said meekly.

“Clones not expendable,” Scalpel said.

“I know you are not programmed to view Decepticons as expendable,” Skywarp whispered. “Do you think Starscream has changed his mind?”

“Recharge tales not for weapons.”

Red Alert followed Starscream with her gaze. He had walked to the aft of the hold to find what space he could. Red Alert gave a glance to Sunstorm and then spoke to Ramjet. “Do you think the confinement is going to be a problem?”

“It is not like prison. Seekers have served on spacecraft before.”

“But we do not have access to the pilot's cabin.”

“There is a small window within the lounge where the crew take their meals. I have been there, when it was not in use.”

Red Alert nodded. She was here for Ramjet, to be with him, but the situation also offered an excellent opportunity to study the Seekers. “I would like to go talk to Scalpel.”

“No. You have to remain at my beck and call at all times.”

Red Alert smiled at Ramjet. “Thank you,” she said, understanding the words as encouragement to do as she pleased.

The audience that had gathered was breaking up. Swindle and Vortex were still sitting together atop one of the cargo containers. Red Alert knew them mainly from the detailed files Autobots had kept on them. Ramjet and Sunstorm seemed to tolerate them well. They kept to themselves, or with Dirge. Sometimes Swindle talked to Starscream.

Skywarp still sat with Scalpel atop the next container. BB was now at the narrow side of the container. “Get some recharge, or ask Sunstorm for your ration. Thundercracker has put him in charge of keeping currency and fuel. Dirge still has the other equipment.”

“Roger,” BB said. He walked away from Skywarp as Red Alert approached. Thundercracker approached at the same time.

“Skywarp, do you want to...?” Thundercracker did not really want to speak with the Autobot present. “We probably have things to discuss.”

“Shortly, Sir,” Skywarp said, “Perhaps the Air Commander has some ideas.”

Thundercracker understood that Skywarp was also choosing words carefully. Red Alert did speak Decepticon fairly well. “Check-in later, then, Commander,” Thundercracker said. He left to look for Slipstream. They needed to do something about her difficulty with Starscream if they were all to rely on each other when faced with enemies or factions with unknown motivations.

“I only wanted to speak to Scalpel,” Red Alert said.

“But I wished to speak to you, Red Alert,” Skywarp said timidly.

“All right, what do you wish to discuss?”

Skywarp glanced about them to see if others might be listening. “You're a medi-bot.”

“Yes. Do you not feel you are functioning at optimum levels? Scalpel is very skilled.”

“Yes. Scalpel is skilled, I am just wondering if you have different training. Or, maybe, a different perspective.”

“I will try to help, if I can,” Red Alert said. She was decided to stay with this group, as Ramjet was, for the time being. She was still not quite comfortable with Slipstream and Dirge, but she did not feel anything negative toward Skywarp personally.

“Do you know, as a medi-bot, I mean, how newsparks get made?”

“Oh.” Red Alert had not anticipated having this talk with anyone soon. “Well, first, you would have to trigger several levels of conditional programming. You will know, when you...”

“Scalpel told me that. He knows the technical aspects, and what the programming is meant to be, but, the social aspects are not his specialty.”

“Well, I do not know that I am any better at that. There are some exceptions, but generally there are four levels of conditional requirements that must be met.”

“I'm already on the third.”

“Are you certain?” Red Alert whispered. She and Ramjet were not even at the second level. “You triggered courtship, acknowledged the courtship as successful and...you felt a kind of stirring, a longing, in your spark, to be near another?”

“It's a little unusual or complicated, I am guessing, but we both triggered courtship protocols on each other. And we never technically courted, yet we did make vows to be together for the rest of our lives, which I suppose could be considered more like consorting, than courting or bonding. And since I have had a spark, I have wanted that other spark.”

“That is...serious,” Red Alert said. “Do you know if your...consort has reached these same levels?”

“I am not certain about the third, I only suspect, but I think it is possible.”

“And you want to know what the next level includes?”

“The sparks kind of dance around each other, don't they?”

Red Alert suspected Skywarp was actually very close to being capable of breeding. He was young, but being a clone, his body was already mature. He had a spark now. All that he technically needed was for his programming to meet the conditional requirements to enable him to fully mature shell, spark and CPU. The point at which all three aspects reached appropriate maturity ranged greatly among Cybertronians. Some were ready soon after getting final upgrades. Others waited many stellar cycles before all conditions were met.

“Skywarp,” Red Alert said kindly, “May I ask, why you want to know? Are you worried about this?”

“I want to know what to avoid,” Skywarp answered quickly, “I want to know if it's possible to resist the urges. I do not want to...I mean, I couldn't make someone do it before they were ready. Could I?”

“No,” Red Alert said. She tried to sound as kind as possible. She understood now why Skywarp worried. “The fact that you ask me out of concern tells me you do have motivation to resist any urges you may have.”

“So I can really just resist?”

“Of course. You will still feel the longing, but there is no damage in resisting until you decide the time is truly right.”

“That's good,” Skywarp said. He was quite relieved. “But, do you know, what precisely I need to avoid? I mean, we couldn't do it just by accident, without knowing?”

“Don't let the sparks touch. You can look, even touch carefully with digits, or claws as they may be, but if you are not ready to chance having a newspark of your own, then you need to keep the sparks from touching.”

Skywarp slipped gracefully from the container and landed before Red Alert. “I really appreciate you understanding and helping me out. You won't tell the others that I asked?”

“No. I will not tell anyone you asked,” Red Alert promised.

Skywarp passed Scalpel to Red Alert.

“I was going to ask about effects of confinement. If you knew of them,” Red Alert said to Scalpel who perched in her hands, “But, do you think it might be wise to give the Seeker clones some fundamental lessons? We do have some time to spare.”

Scalpel did a partial transformation that raised the optical components from his back. Red Alert recognized this mode, from her time as Scalpel's student. Though his full transformation put the lenses and mirrors to other use, this mode enabled Scalpel to project images, text and diagrams onto a surface; he often used this to present information during a lecture and spoke only to draw attention to specific points.

When the Seeker clones onlined after their next recharge and congregated in the hold, to partake of energon rations, Red Alert and Scalpel already had lessons planned. “Lesson time!” Scalpel trilled as he projected a display onto the surface of the inner hull. 

“Please, if you would gather round,” Red Alert called out, “Scalpel and I prepared some lessons.”

“What kind of lessons?” Skywarp asked; he sounded as if half his systems were still in recharge.

“More information? New Information?” Dirge asked. “Who else has these lessons?

“Why can't we just download the information?” Slipstream asked.

“Same reason Ramjet is learning Autobot by hearing it spoken by a native speaker, rather than receive a copy of my language files. We are all learning machines. Hearing a language with your own audio receptors and repeating with your own vocalizer reinforces retention within your memory and comprehension within your processor. When you learn for yourself, you may make connections that you could not from copying another's files.”

“Learning styles,” Scalpel said. His projection shifted and then showed blocks of Cybertronian text and a chart detailing various learning styles.”

“Scalpel has experience educating, so please give him your attention and treat him with respect, as your professor.”

“And Red Alert,” Scalpel chirped.

“Yes,” Red Alert agreed. “I do not have teaching experience, but I may have some information Professor Scalpel does not. I am willing to share my knowledge.”

“I will attend!” Dirge said. “I want more knowledge. I will show I can be a favorite student.”

Before the other clones were decided, Starscream came from his own semi-private hiding space, where he had been recharging, and approached Thundercracker. “Although I was not consulted,” he began haughtily, “If these two are together in this, I can only imagine it is in your best interest. What say you, General?” It was the first Starscream had acknowledged Thundercracker with this rank. Thundercracker found it a fitting title for his position.

“I assume this was brought on by recent storytelling?” Thundercracker asked.

“Partly, yes,” Red Alert answered.

“It will be good for you,” Starscream suggested, “After all, each of you contributes and is an asset to your team. You are hardly expendable drones, therefore it is only fitting you have all the knowledge and skills needed to survive...and dare I say, thrive even.”

Slipstream glared suspiciously at Starscream. Was he being manipulative again, saying only what he thought they wished to hear, or could it be he had sincerely changed from their time on Luna? She thought this Starscream intelligent, skilled, an ideal flier and quite handsome, but it was the Starscream of the past who was attractive beneath the visible surface and physical abilities of his shell. His beliefs and actions, in the past, had been beautiful and admirable. She would do him harm if she learned he was lying to them now; if she found he was only calling them something other than expendable because he knew they longed to hear it. 

“I concur, My Liege,” Thundercracker said coolly, looking on Starscream with nearly as much suspicion as Slipstream. “We will all participate. We have time during our journey, and the knowledge may very well be of value. We are in no way inferior to other mechanisms for being clones. In fact our group is probably superior to many others.”

“It is truly touching how your self-importance has been extended to include superiority of your team,” Starscream observed, though in bitting tone.

“I am not the one who built an army in my own image,” Thundercracker retorted.

“Well the cog does not fall far from the clockwork,” Starscream rebutted.

Red Alert called for attention and the first lesson was begun.

The freighter would need to make a fuel stop at Grand Central Space Station, but until they reached that point, they had little to do, and so the lessons went on for several cycles at a time. Scalpel and Red Alert covered history of Cybertron and current politics. They taught the clones how to recognize written and spoken languages used through Cybertronian history: Quintesson, Ancient Cybertronian, Ancient Autobot, Decepticon, Modern Autobot and Cybertronix. They reviewed the formation and design of various faction and sub-faction brands. They summarized the various religious beliefs held by Cybertronians, including worship of or belief in creator beings such as Primus, Unicron or Primacron; the theory of a spontaneous evolution knows as Atechnogenesis; and occult practices. When it seemed time allowed, they also introduced the clones to the better known periods and artists in the arts; Cybertronians sports; and martial arts.

Scalpel said that students needed time between lessons to process what they had learned and to formulate new questions that may direct their study. Between lessons, Starscream could sometimes be convinced to tell another story, and if not he, Swindle, Vortex or Red Alert might share a story known to them. Red Alert knew the most stories that had femme or female protagonists, often featuring handsome princes. Starscream seemed partial to stories that included transformation, change or magic spells and potions. Swindle liked stories about heroes finding treasure or being granted wishes. Vortex did not know as many sparkling recharge tales as the others, but he knew many stories taught to younglings; of battles, kings and princes vying for a throne, and adventures of a master of a weapon or martial art.

Other times, they would play games. Some in the group knew how Thundercracker and Skywarp likes to play games, while others had assumed it euphemism for some other activity. Whatever else they did, the General and 2IC, did know of many games. Some, such as Battleship or Risk were learned in their brief time on Luna or Earth. Others were seemingly universal and were played throughout the galaxy with only slight differences in gameplay, such as tic-tac-toe, or charades.

BB and Scalpel were well able to act out the clues in charades. The Seekers, collectively, were too quick to guess what any of their number acted-out, due to their shared portions of memory. (Of course Ramjet purposely called out seemingly ridiculous guesses in attempt to throw off other players.) Red Alert got excited and yelled out guesses at rapid pace, while Swindle and Vortex both preferred to listen to other guesses, watch and then call out the answer when certain of it.

The shared activities pleased Thundercracker, as they allowed him to observe the interaction between the others and note who worked well together, and who did not. He appreciated the progress Sunstorm and BB were making, in particular. It may partly have been his sycophantic nature, but Sunstorm, like BB, was working to prove himself a loyal and skilled subordinate. Both looked for new tasks when they were finished what they had already been assigned. Sunstorm was observant, good at listening, and so far fair in minding their funds.

Ramjet was still standoffish with Thundercracker, but he did have that contrary sort of charisma that made others listen to what he said. Maybe he had leadership potential, as Thundercracker's subordinate, of course. Red Alert was being agreeable thus far. Her mood swung from stoic to excitable and high-strung, but in either case she was civil towards Slipstream and Dirge, and friendly to the rest.

Skywarp seemed better; whatever had been bothering him had passed. Slipstream and Dirge were as loyal as usual, though Slipstream acted more emotional when Starscream was about, and Dirge could be easily distracted by his 'uncles'. Thundercracker still did not know what might be worth the mercenaries' while to stay, but the more he watched them, the more he suspected Swindle and Starscream were some manner of compatriots or brothers-in-arms from long ago. Swindle and Vortex were definitely still looking out for their own interests, but maybe they were decided that Starscream and the Seeker clones were strong enough to make an alliance beneficial.

One of the two crew members came to the hold, as a lesson on intra-galactic politics was ending. Thundercracker saw it was the smaller, greener one; he had a frill around his neck. “Yes, Slizardo?”

Slizardo spoke in broken Decepticon, “Captain Xukus says we reach Station soon. You will disembark during refuel?”

“Our intelligence says Grand Central does not welcome technological species.”

“No, no! New management! All should visit. What you like? Bargains? Drink? Pleasure? Gaming?” Perhaps Thundercracker betrayed some interest, involuntarily. “Games, yes, not like Monacus, but games to be found.”

“Inform the captain some of us may go into the station, while the Lazy Susan is serviced.”


	20. Simple Pleasures

The old freighter designated Lazy Susan had been granted docking permission by Grand Central Space Station Control. The aged blue vessel was docked along Pier 3 of the shining and recently refurbished mega-structure. Slizardo said that Captain Xukus had won the Sue, as they called her, in a game of chance within this very station; apparently the Lazy Susan had gone around quite a bit.

Their ship's captain, a reptilian Skuxxoid, made a brief appearance to suggest the passengers disembark while the Sue was fueled and serviced. “Try the Blackhole Bar & Grill,” Slizardo added.

With some reluctance, the passengers disembarked and entered the interior of the station. Apparent gravity was centrifugal force generated by the station's rotation about an axis, so that central cylinder seemed up and the surfaces toward the ends of the spokes of the great turning wheel seemed down. They only had to walk a few steps through the air lock before their senses were inundated with advertisements and solicitations.

“I have a good feeling about this,” Ramjet said.

“Does have a flavor of Haven of Danger and Wretchedness Made Family Friendly,” Starscream agreed.

“Which means it does not serve to stand about like some gang or squadron,” Thundercracker called to the closely packed group. “We determined this to be time for recreation, so split up and recreate.”

'Does Thundercracker seem to be using more euphemism lately?' Slipstream flashed to Skywarp.

Skywarp smirked. 'It's more double entendre of dubious intent,' Skywarp replied by laser. A fraction of a klik later he spoke aloud to Thundercracker, “It is a strange place to us, so though I agree with splitting into smaller groups, I would argue against anyone going alone, Sir.” Even as he spoke, Skywarp was aware of Scalpel speaking inside his cockpit, and an incoming private comm from Starscream.

“Coy Skywarp,” Scalpel chirped just as Starscream commed 'Tell Slipstream,when she asks, that you want to be alone with your leader.'

“I concur. Skywarp, you are with me. The rest of you, split up and use some discretion in how you choose your recreation.”

“Streamer,” Starscream said, “May I buy you a drink?”

Slipstream, caught off guard, looked to Dirge, even as she automatically replied, “Don't call me that.”

“My Sister,” Dirge said.

“Dirge promised to be my wingmech,” Swindle asserted, “it would ruin everything if you tagged along.”

Slipstream turned her head to look at Skywarp.

Skywarp replied by comm, 'Maybe you should give Starscream a chance. I want to invite Thundercracker to see a holo at the theater here.'

Red Alert, feeling sympathy for Slipstream, despite herself, almost offered to let her join her and Ramjet. Ramjet spoke before she was able. “Hey, Starscream, keep playing hard to get and Slipstream will never go out with you.”

Starscream had suggested to a few that they should avoid giving Slipstream the opportunity to go with them, and thus avoid him, but he did not like that Ramjet pointed this out with his statement of the reverse. For her part, Slipstream could see the conspiracy that had been set against her. Dirge, usually loyal, was once again choosing Swindle's company over her own. Sunstorm apparently had some plan to allow Uncle Vortex to show him how to have a good time, and BB was going with them. Ramjet and Red Alert considered the layover opportunity to date. Obviously Starscream had gotten to Skywarp; Slipstream knew Thundercracker tolerated her staying close now.

Slipstream glared at Starscream, and did not answer, until the others left them. “Are you asking me out? On a date?”

“'Dating' is for Autobots and Earthlings,” Starscream said, pronouncing the English word of that meaning, rather than speak Autobot.

“But you want me to go alone with you to consume energizing beverages on your currency?”

“Why do you have to avoid giving me a straight answer?”

“The same reason you do,” Slipstream said quickly.

Starscream truly feared he was never going to understand this one. “You let the others leave.”

“Yes.”

“And Thundercracker and Skywarp made it clear no one should be alone.”

“Yes.”

“So you intend to go with me, whether you admit it aloud or not.”

“I intend to go with you as much as you are asking me on a date.”

Starscream thought about this a nanocycle. Sometimes Slipstream could string together a web of words as confusing and contrary as Ramjet or Sunstorm. He supposed they did get it from him. One did not survive many stellar cycles of working for Megatron and failing to find the AllSpark without learning every creative way there was to spin failure into progress and platitude. Intention was equal to asking, therefore, if asking was a known value, intention was also known.

Starscream was definitely asking Slipstream to go alone with him to consume energizing beverages on his currency, which could be what a courting couple did, but might be something comrades-in-arms did when reminiscing about their experiences in the war. But, in this case, Starscream knew in his spark he was not asking because Slipstream was a teammate. He was asking because he could not stop thinking about her and questioning how she could so calmly explain how she was attracted to him, and then just drop it by saying it wouldn't work out. He was asking her on a date in all but name. Therefore she intended to accept his offer in all but name. This was a good thing. Progress.

Slipstream watched Starscream's posture and facial expression shift from calculating to smug. She offered her hand. Starscream looked at the slender, clawed hand as if puzzled, then took her offered right hand in his left. Had he ever done this with anyone? He could not remember. Just that small thing: her hand. It was permission to touch and to lead. He felt powerful, or something alike to having power. It was not, he decided, like any power he had experienced, not control, or command, or military authority. It was like something precious entrusted to him.

“For a genius, you are really slow sometimes.” Slipstream started walking to the lifts, pulling Starscream along by his hand.

It was trust! Not pretended trust, not counting on one to do their duty, not being reasonably certain this was not the cycle one would be backstabbed. And, Starscream realized, it was not a power one had over another; the trust went both ways. Slipstream was leading him along and he just let her, without a fear.

How had he gotten this far in life without experiencing such a simple pleasure as holding another's hand? It's weakness, he suggested to himself, darkly. Starscream was lately willing to see some truth in what Slipstream had said to him; that he had changed. There was a cold, guarded war-hardened side to him that he knew was very unlike his younger self. He had experienced and suffered too much not to have changed. It is weakness, this cold part said; you need no one. This holding of hands is nothing but a comfort for sparklings who do not have strength enough to stand on their own.

I can survive without, Starscream answered his darker self. I have proven over many stellar cycles that I can stand on my own. I have shown I can fight and need rely on no one. I died, multiple times, and came back! It has nothing to do with need. I say I have earned the right to do a few things just because I wish to do them!

Because you wish, the darkness said, because you desire. Desire does not need trust. You should be able to make her bend to your will. Take what you desire.

You do not understand! You never understood! What I want is for her to choose me and pursue me of her own will. I want to be pursued! Such a wish, dependant on another's desires, cannot be forced or taken. It can be invited, tempted, encouraged.

A foolish wish, the darkness accused. Weakness. To be dependant on another's whims for your happiness? Like a little sparkling mewling for affection. No one will ever desire you as you wish. No one ever has.

“Stop brooding, Geek, or I'll think you a bad date and decide to crush on some other mech!” Slipstream snapped. Maybe Starscream would think this more of her being bitter, but she knew her intentions were in the right place. As hoped, Starscream's energy field and the light in his optics both stopped wavering.

“Yes, Commandatrix!” Starscream said, all false military protocol and butchered feminine address.

“Do not make me go to Skywarp for tips.” Slipstream gave Starscream's hand a squeeze as she glanced at the interactive map on an interior surface of the lift. “Come on, this is our floor,” she said. The lift stopped as soon as she spoke. She had felt the shift in movement that preceded a stop. The door slid open and Slipstream let Starscream lead her from the lift. She saw Starscream glance back at her, smug again, and smirking. At least he did not look pained or brooding anymore. “Don't look at me like that.”

“Like what?” The tone was overacted innocence. He knew.

“Like your thoughts somehow have that annoying suggestive tone, though you do not speak.”

He laughed as they moved through the crowd made of individuals of many races. Slipstream could see the signs of the Bar & Grill ahead. “I was just thinking that you would not 'crush on some other mech'.” Somehow, the statement was confident, but not at all suggestive.

“You would rather I be alone all my life?”

“I wish that on no one,” Starscream said seriously, “I meant, I expect you to eventually give up the 'would not work out' thing.”

“I do not want to talk about that now,” Slipstream said irritably. Then, knowing the vow she made to the AllSpark demanded something more fully truthful at the moment, she continued, drawing their still joined hands near to her chest, so that Starscream had to stop and turn. “Starscream, I meant the things I said to you in the trade nexus. I admit I have been trying to avoid you since then; I couldn't find anything positive to share. I can see you are a little changed. You make effort to see me and to treat all of us clones with a little more respect. I appreciate that. I've decided it need not be cruel, teasing and torturous to be with you. Maybe, while neither of us has anyone else, we can just be companionable, so we don't have to be alone. Maybe, even closer than average companions, because we are like family, but not too close. I-I have strong opinions...there are things I will not do causally.”

“You got to watch for that monologuing,”Starscream stage whispered, “Enemies will use it against you.”

Slipstream rolled her optics behind the outer lenses.

Starscream bowed to touch their helms to each other. “There are some things I would not do casually, too.” Not that he acted it. Maybe Thundercracker had inherited the conservative attitude and Skywarp the flirtatious facade. Did Starscream also have Ramjet's propensity to fall hard? Dirge's strong desire? Sunstorm's suppressed but fiery passion? Slipstream knew what she had gotten; they were much too much alike.

Head bowed, Slipstream saw what she must have felt without conscious notice; the knuckle joints of Starscream's left hand touched the translucent blue canopy of her cockpit. “Just a drink for now,” she whispered.

“Yes, of course, a drink.” Starscream's voice had an undertone of static; contrary to his contrived suggestive tone, this actually suggested he was affected by emotion. Slipstream liked it. She liked feeling she was desired.

Starscream was thinking the same thing: Slipstream sounded affected and he liked feeling desired. Slipstream's knuckles grazed his canopy as she lowered their hands. “If you are a real gentlemech and sweet to me, maybe I'll even dance with you.”

Starscream gave a start, senses warning of the increasing attention of the crowd. He squeezed Slipstream's hand lightly and walked again towards the Black Hole. “I do my dancing in air.”

“You are perfection in air. I'll have to offer a raincheck, if you earn the dance.”

As Starscream and Slipstream entered the Black Hole Bar & Grill, a small mysterious figure hidden by the crowd, commed an other. 'Just two in the Bar,' he relayed in series of chirps and beeps.

A voice replied in broken Decepticon, 'Split-up. No more than three a group. Big one and two others in Chromite parlor in Side 4.'

Another called to them, wheezing reptilian voice carried over the comms, 'Two just walked into the casino in Side 7, big guns, but small for their faction.'

Dirge and Swindle were unaware of being watched as they entered the casino and went to the banker to exchange other currency for casino tokens. Swindle and Dirge pulled various wallets and containers from storage. “How are the exchange rates?” Swindle asked the banker. He murmured to himself as he counted his currency, “Shanix, Energon chips, Galactic Credits, Torkulonese CUs, Blackrock gas card.” 

“Exchange rates are posted and updated at the open of the Galactic Market,” The banker droned.

“I have some energon,” Dirge said, studying the posted rates on the screens over the bank counter. He wanted to have more forms of currency, but thus far he had collected more belongings and intangibles than currency. There were no exchange rates for items such as a lotto scratch-off card, a platinum card belonging to an S. Witwicky, game pieces from a Burger Bot promotion, or any of the other precious items in Dirge's tiny designer handbag.

“I'll spot ya a few tokens, Friend,” Swindle said brightly, “provided you repay the amount plus a percent of any profit in winnings.”

“Of course,” Dirge agreed; he could hear the faint 'cha-ching' that Swindle made involuntarily when he was excited about a deal. Dirge really liked being with Swindle. He knew Slipstream did not entirely approve, but as much as Dirge did sincerely love having so many brothers and a very protective sister, the idea of having a friend, who did not have that inherent familial connection as excuse to associate with him, was highly appealing. It meant someone valued his company in particular; Dirge liked having this feeling of being valued.

Vortex was fun sometimes, but Swindle really understood how Dirge wanted everything. He was a great source of information on economics, trade and industry. He had already taught Dirge so much. And, he knew how to have fun.

Swindle dropped a stack of tokens into Dirge's greedy hands. Dirge grinned, optics fully open at the currency the tokens represented. “How generous, My Friend,” he said. “Do allow me to begin to reward your investment by buying you a drink.”

“Just the first round, Kid,” Swindle said, “We keep making wagers and they'll bring us drinks for free.”

Such useful information. “I love free!” Dirge said covetously.

“So do I!” Swindle said. His purple optics flared brightly and Dirge heard the faint cha-ching again. Those big glowy optics were such a rare color among Cybertronians. Rare things were usually valuable, precious. Rare things were worthy of being kept in a private collection.

Dirge looked about suspiciously, on guard against other collectors who might try to take Swindle from him. A mysterious figure watching from behind a far bank of slot machines, slouched, wondering if the young blue and gold Seeker had noticed him; sometimes the helm-mounted weapon was a detriment to stealthy operation.

Another, silhouetted against the brighter lights outside the casino, with figure disguised by a poncho scratched his faceplate with a hooked appendage. He decided to let these two go, as a favor to Swindle, who had made some advantageous deals with him in the past. It was just good business. And, he knew there were others nearby that needed collecting. Sources said there were three escaped convicts enjoying the Chromites' services in Side 4. 

The Chromite's were a race of sentient mechanisms frequently employed or owning businesses in the service and domestic labor industries. They had no military of their own, but a history and distinction for great skill with detail-oriented tasks and a work ethic based in pride in completing tasks fully and to their best ability. Some races viewed them as inferior, as their own cultures had different values, but Chromites did not see their status as servicers as inferior, but the most logical result of their inherent skill and programming.

The Chromite parlor within Grand Central Space Station offered a full range of maintenance services for mechanisms from basic wash and wax to custom paint applications. They even offered what was known as 'Chromite Massage', the technique and art of which they guarded with all their renown reputation for discretion and confidentiality that came with their service.

Vortex had led Sunstorm and BB to their parlor, knowing of their fine reputation. All three had been imprisoned by the Autobots, stayed in shady rented rooms in the trade nexus and suffered the substandard facilities on the Sue.

Sunstorm presently relaxed in his rack, observing the ministrations of the various Chromites assigned to service him. They raised, lowered, spun or tilted the rack as needed to reach his frame, using pedal controls on the floor. He had opted to spend most of his allotment of funds on 'the works', but Vortex promised the service was worth it. He said the services themselves were pleasurable and relaxing, and the finished result impressive. “You will leave feeling like a new mech,” uncle Vortex has said.

Sunstorm could see him, secured to his own rack, blades detached and being filed and oiled, as a crew of Chromites waxed and polished his shell and armor. BB also in view, still enjoying his wash cycle. He was large enough that the wiry-framed Chromites walked over the surface of his body to work with their sponges and scrub brushes.

Sunstorm was spun and tilted on his rack so that his back was upward and his head inclined above his feet. One of the Chromites walked in front of him and spoke in Cybertronix, which Sunstorm mostly understood, for the common words shared with Autobot or Decepticon. “Treat servos and claws now?”

“Yes,” Sunstorm agreed.

Another of the crew patted Sunstorm's left wing. “wing polish?”

“Yes, please.”

“Permit to move elevators and ailerons?”

“Tell me when. I will move them,” Sunstorm said.

“As you wish, Sir.”

Sunstorm's processor filled with good things to say. He could not praise the service crew enough. The service, especially the polish and massage, was quite pleasurable. They left not a smudge, burr, ding, squeak or piece of grit.

As the hook-handed mech stalked toward the parlor, a pair of blue optics watched from the shadows of a stairwell nearby. The anonymous tips indicated some fugitives were within, but if the competition was already on the job, things might quickly get messy. The watcher decided to move to the next location: the holomatter theater. Sources indicated there were another two fugitives there, and if no one else had secured them yet, effort would be better focused there, than on creating larger conflict here. 

The local holomatter theater currently had two holos showing. One was a heist movie from a Cybertronian studio, titled O'tron's Eleven, starring Cloudburst and Landmine. Skywarp had invited Thundercracker to see the second holo, a independent horror movie starring Bludgeon and Skullgrin, titled The Moon Has Eyes. Skywarp purposely opting for the horror holo was clearly, to Scalpel, and maybe even to Thundercracker, a example of how his cowardly, coy processor functioned. The movie was going to frighten Skywarp, and being frightened, Skywarp was going to need someone to provide comfort and reassurance.

“I suppose you may hold my hand if you get scared,” Thundercracker said, as they waited in a queue with other theater patrons.

“You have helped me face my fears. I always feel safer if you're with me, Thundercracker.”

“Of course I do not frighten easily. And it is only a holo. You hardly need me to protect you from holographic horrors.”

“I still feel better if I am with you,” Skywarp insisted. 

Thundercracker looked at Skywarp directly and flashed a message, 'I am right with you, my most dear and worthy.'

Scalpel, nestled within Skywarp's cockpit, could literally feel the flaring of Skywarp's spark at the text received from Thundercracker. Skywarp had not spoken of it to Scalpel in any direct way, but since gaining his spark, Skywarp had shown some awareness of how Scalpel's physical presence within his shell and close to his spark enabled both to sense something of the other's intentions and feelings by merit of the dynamic between energy fields. It was not like any permanent bond, but the function was alike to that of a low-level bond between mechanisms, for as long as the contact remained.

Sometimes, such as now, others were close enough to Skywarp, that Scalpel had a vague sense of their nature and state as well. The other was most often Thundercracker. A few times, recently, Thundercracker and Slipstream had both been close enough, and at the same time, that there was some small shared awareness between the four. Scalpel truly found the interactions between the young Seekers fascinating.

Thundercracker was outwardly strong, competent and seemingly mature, even wise at times. But, the truth was, in some ways, Skywarp was much more mature. Thundercracker was yet childlike in spark and emotional processing, though he was physically and intellectually adult. He was in this way needier that Skywarp; he needed more reassurance and care. He was no newspark, in Scalpel's opinion, but neither was he fully adult.

Skywarp seemed to have finally realized this. He understood what his dearest brother needed to mature was care, support and time and freedom to develop.

Thundercracker, being intellectually mature, seemed to be self aware and analytical enough to notice that there were differences between Skywarp and himself, even if he did not himself realize why. To him it only seemed Skywarp was the one who had changed and grown distant. He was not able, perhaps due to his strong ego, to perceive himself as less developed in any sense.

There was no definition in Thundercracker's mind for what form the togetherness between he and Skywarp took. It was pure and without name. He knew no difference between affection for a brother, friend, lover or fellow soldier; it was all the same to him. He knew they were together. He knew there was affection and felt Skywarp was dear. If pressed he might say it was like being best friends; they just did everything together without need for any further reason why. They just did.

Thundercracker could perceive that lately Skywarp seemed to want more physical reassurance that they were together. There was something different, but Thundercracker did not know what it was, not for certain. To him, they always had been physical. He had let Skywarp entangle their limbs while in recharge. They had held onto each other when in a crowd, so as not to be knocked apart. They had protected and guarded each other. Often his claws touched Skywarp's face plating and Skywarp sometimes ran his claws through Thundercracker's spires, when no one else was about to see his helm removed.

Somehow it was different now. Skywarp stayed distant, and when he was close, he seemed cautious. He asked permission for things he had previously just done. Thundercracker felt he had to say aloud what was permitted, such as explaining that he would not mind Skywarp holding his hand in the theater. Thundercracker suspected it all had some awkward and vague connection to the memories he had accessed about the dying sparklings and the rules some Decepticon leaders had made regarding creating new sparks. Even with his suspicions, he was unable to perceive how these memories affected Skywarp's being together with him.

Thundercracker knew the memories had disturbed him, given him doubt and fear he did not want to admit. Yet his fear was vague, focused on not repeating the more unfortunate things in those memories, without fully comprehending what it truly was he wished to avoid or why he felt so lacking and uncertain. Just as he knew he believed Ramjet and Red Alert were somehow doing something he thought might be inappropriate, without actually being able to explain what they actually might be doing or why he did not feel comfortable with whatever that was.

Thundercracker sat in the darkened theater, watching the holo that unfolded around them. The plot involved a group of organics, played by costumed mechanisms, being stranded on a moon, which they soon realized was alive, evil, and trying to kill them. Skywarp was seated to his right. The theater was crowded, but not entirely full. Skywarp had chosen seats away from the central stage, and there did not happen to be many others seated near them.

Skywarp was holding his hand, just as Thundercracker had offered he might. The energy fields their sparks made were somehow large or more disperse than those the shards had generated. Thundercracker could sense the spikes of fear as the holo depicted violent and gory events. There was also a feeling of caution and patience, and fainter than that something like contentment, amusement and interest. Thundercracker was fairly certain the latter feelings were Scalpel's. He was often in Skywarp's cockpit when not about other tasks, and besides that, Skywarp usually felt somehow more secure and less fearful when Scalpel was there. Thundercracker sometimes had a similar feeling, knowing the older and more experienced doctor was with them.

Thundercracker reached with his sensors to confirm again they were reasonably alone, dimly lit, and that other patrons were focused on the holo. Assured this was so, Thundercracker removed his pointy helm with his left hand and lay it in his lap. He took his right hand gently from Skywarp's and instead placed it against Skywarp's lower back, beneath his wings. He then tipped his head and leaned slightly to rest his head on Skywarp's shoulder.

Skywarp was a little surprised. Skywarp knew of his own surprise of course; usually he was the one to initiate such contact. Thundercracker sensed the surprise through their proximity. 'It is right with you?' he asked, using a private comm, so as to not alert the other patrons. 

'Entirely!' Skywarp replied happily. 'but, straighten up a nanoklik. My arm feels a little pinned like this.'

Thundercracker shifted. Skywarp lifted his left arm and lay it across Thundercracker's shoulders. He adjusted the tilt of his wings and then put his claws to Thundercracker's head to draw him back down to rest against him.

'This right?' Skywarp asked.

'Yes.' It almost felt like the way things had been before. Thundercracker longed for those simple pleasures. For now, he was aware of a kind of a kind of patient, cautious protectiveness from Skywarp. Before, Thundercracker would always have assumed himself the protector. There was also, along with the first, a sense of contented, affectionate happiness, or possibly love. And then, a pleasurable awareness of the flat planes of their wings touching.

Thundercracker wished things had not grown so complicated between them. He felt Skywarp's claws comb his spires. Then, Skywarp's lips touched his brow. Thundercracker did not understand why that gesture felt more like restraint than affection. He tried sincerely to just enjoy the contact, the way he used to.

The particular jet fuel and ozone-like scent of the two Seekers was lost in the reek of toasty or sickly sweet treats for organic patrons and all the other petrochemicals of the lobby concession stand. It would possibly have aroused suspicion to purchase tickets to both shows, or to attempt to enter a particular theater without ticket. Quarry denied him for the moment, the tracker outside the theater decided to backtrack to the last place the trails had spilt. Another trail had seemed to lead into the central cylinder of the station where zero g amusements and observation areas were housed.

Ramjet and Red Alert had found their way to the observation area in Side 2. The area was located in the 'lower' dome-like portion of the central cylinder of the space station. The large transparent panes here allowed a view of the local starscape and occasional approaches and departures of spacecraft. It was disorienting to some – Ramjet had witnessed one organic vomit already – as fixing on a star without seemed to make the room spin in relation, and fixing on the room as stationary made the starscape seem to rotate.

Ramjet's attention was fixed mainly on Red, but he knew the room and stars all moved. The room churned slowly about them, as the station's spin allowed for a gravitational-like pull of centrifugal force toward the designated floors, which many species found a comfort. The stars also moved, but were distant enough that the movement appeared so slight as to register as stationary.

Ramjet, being a Seeker and flight model, was accustomed to navigation in three dimensions, plotting courses between moving objects and even operating in a zero g environment. The spinning did not affect him adversely. Red seemed similarly at ease, which was just one more good thing about her.

“When do I get to see you fly?” Ramjet asked. He'd somehow known it since they met and she'd been wearing truck parts, but he had not seen her new transformation scheme or the apparent flight-like ability to have real confirmation.

“Well, I haven't really gotten a chance to see you fly.”

Ramjet realized this was true. Red Alert had not actually seen him coming and going from prison, apartment building or trade nexus. He grinned at her. “I think when you see, you'll know if I'm really the one for you. My spark's set on you already, but if I see you fly, I won't just consider courtship successful, I'll be wanting to make permanent vows to love you for the rest of my life.”

“Maybe I will,” Red Alert agreed. “I think I am a bit excited to finally see.”

Ramjet took Red's hands in his, entwined their claws and digits. “When we get to New Kaon. We will find a road for you to get up to speed. We will see if we're made to dance together.”

“This is nice, though,” Red Alert said, meaning the floating together in front of the starscape. Then, she said, “I think you mentioned a courtship dance in the past. Is it like this? Like dancing?”

Ramjet tipped his head. It was a familiar gesture to Red by now.

“So, dancing is different for Decepticons, compared to Autobots?”

Ramjet knew of two forms of dance: courtship dance and performing arts before an audience. He was no professional dancer. “You mean informally? The casual informal movement in time to music?”

“Yes. It is sometimes like this, holding hands.”

“Some Decepticons do it, I think. Otherwise, it is formal, for entertainment of an audience, or in courtship.”

“And how is it in courtship?”

“Depends on partners. For two Seekers, it would be in the air, root and alt, moving in complementary or synchronized manner. There are some traditional movements, but overall the aim is to demonstrate ability to work well together, to anticipate or predict the others' movements, to time movement precisely. For two sports cars, it would probably be done on some pretty seaside highway or a curvy mountain road, or maybe an expressway.”

“You understand cars fairly well, for a jet.”

“I have a good teacher.”

“I bet you are her pet.”

“Not at all,” Ramjet lied.

“Can we practice?”

Ramjet's optics flared brightly for a moment.

Red Alert giggled. “Practice a kind of dance,” she said, lifting their hands.

“No music.”

“Does a courtship dance have music?”

“No...” Ramjet nodded understanding. No music, just counting and anticipation or ability to follow and lead. Ramjet released one of Red's hands and she used maneuvering thrusters and controlled movement to spin away from him to their arms' length. Ramjet put a littler weight into her hand as a signal and Red spun back to him and landed with her back to his chest. “Nice move,” he said.

“You like?”

Ramjet bowed and pressed his lips to the grey and white horn on the left side of Red's head. Her horns were positioned where some beings had ears, and housed many sensory receptors, audio among them.

“You have some nice moves yourself,” Red Alert whispered. She could feel the desire radiating from both of them, and the heat-like friction of energy fields shifting against each other. Would she know as soon as she saw him fly? She found herself hoping this was true and that her realization would be positive.


	21. Rise of the Bounty Hunters

Slipstream had thought, based on other people's memories and television, that drinking to the point she became overcharged would inspire some profound realization, or at least lower her inhibitions to the point she did something she would later regret. All that had really happened was that it gave her surges and a sort of volatile and slightly disoriented sensation. Starscream however, seemed to display the stereotyped introspection and slight stupor, in the way that stimulants could have the reverse effect on those who were already hyperactive. “You want another?” He asked, vocalizer glitching just a bit so that the words sounded slower and much lower in pitch than his usual Vosian accent.

Slipstream still had several layers of a Turbine Trifle remaining in her stemmed glass, and was down to the denser fluids. “Still nursing this one,” Slipstream said, “It is quite good, though. You had one?”

Starscream nodded slowly as he looked at her, head propped in one hand, elbow on the bartop. His optics were bright, but half-shuttered. “Another Crimson Fog,” he called to the bartender. There were two, and only one of them seemed inclined to serve mechs. Slipstream watched the Lithonian bartender carefully pour liquid energon into a slender glass and then add a shot of a particular vintage of Elf engine lubricant; the reaction gave the beverage a rosy hue. Starscream dropped a chip displaying a quantity of Galactic Credits to the bar, by way of payment.

Slipstream looked up to the pirate broadcast playing on the screens above the bar. Since leaving Earth, she found there was quite trade in re-distributing signals that had been broadcast and propagated into space from primitive worlds without their own galactic licensing or syndication contracts. So long as the natives of the more primitive worlds were unaware of the unauthorized use of their intellectual property, the pirate re-broadcasting for profit continued. Slipstream could not decide if this particular program was actually from Earth and featured puppets and costumed humans as aliens, or if the actors were actually from different alien races and just speaking English for some reason. Most of the characters seemed to consider the token Earthling an idiot, which argued for the production being either off Earth, or an Earth show with an impressively self deprecating sense of humor.

Starscream took a long draught from his fresh Crimson Fog. “You really are pretty,” he said, vocalizer slurring again.

“You are overcharged,” Slipstream told him. Not that she was not also fairly overcharged, but Starscream was either coyly overacting his disorientation in order to get away with saying outrageous things, or surges had temporarily affected his logic circuits and he really had lost all inhibition. “Anyway, that might just be your narcissism talking.” 

“But if I was narcissistic, I would only find myself...”

“The most handsome Decepticon? I know five others just like you.” Slipstream returned her attention to the program showing above the bar. This plot interested her in particular. It seemed the cute but idiotic human had gone and gotten himself doubled into two equally original beings and now the female soldier, who had some kind of romantic or sexual attraction toward the cute idiot, was torn between the two. She was in love with two men that were each essentially the same man.

Wow, Slipstream touched a hand to her helm, she felt she might be having that hypothetical drunken epiphany. She looked at Starscream, thinking she might even say something nice, when he lurched towards her. In that nanocycle, Slipstream was uncertain whether Starscream was being lecherous, going to purge bodily fluids all over her, or about to pass into involuntary stasis. Then, she heard the blast behind her. Starscream's weight carried them both to the floor, hard and fast.

Slipstream was pinned, back and wings to the floor and Starscream sprawled heavily atop her. She strained to extend her sensors to locate their attacker, if the violence had not merely been random. The hiccup-like electrical surges were still affecting her systems, and it was frighteningly obvious that until the overcharged state wore off, she could not absolutely rely on the connections between sensory receptors and processor functioning normally.

“Get up, you're heavy,” Slipstream hissed.

“Can't. Hit.” His voice now reverberated off her metal plating as well as slurred. “Gravity rod rifle. Cybertronian mass shifting technology temporarily increases or decreases gravitational pull.”

Slipstream squirmed, but only managed to move a little. She did have her arms free. She stretched her neck, trying to get a visual on the attacker. “Do you see them?” She groaned. “And by the way, this has got to be one of the most stupidly romantic blunders ever! Throw me to cover, take a hit for me and still manage to trap us both!”

“Bickering: not an effective battle strategy,” Starscream slurred. He could barely lift his head to look for the shooter. His vision blurred, one optic functioning less than the other. “Slaggin' little mini-master-micro-con thing,” he groaned, spotting the subject.

The other patrons were variously departing or moving out of the way. The petite Cybertronian beeped in his native machine language as he tossed some credits up to the bar as repayment for the trouble. The organic of the two bartenders could be heard cursing and grumbling about the policy change that allowed mechs into the joint.

Slipstream could just see the small Cybertronian at the limit of her field of vision, approaching on foot, along the bar, somewhere above her head. She could not easily position her own arm-mounted weapons directly above, or rather, directly horizontal to her prone form. She drew her hands in toward her chest and lifted Starscream's head by his chin. “Shoot!”

Starscream made a wordless whine.

“Do you have a slagging sonic blaster inside your head or not?” Slipstream tried to maneuver one hand to the back of Starscream's helm to find the manual trigger, but it was too much to keep his head raised well away from her own body with one hand.

Starscream could not recall if Slipstream was supposed to know about that little secret weapon, but he initiated the deployment; his face plating shifted, and he released the blast from the weapon hidden in his mouth.

The Mini-con was hit and went down. Slipstream let Starscream's face drop. His face plating shifted back to his root configuration and he was able to speak again. “He's only stunned.”

“FYI, I got Dirge's memory update.”

That explained it. “I guess kissing's out?” Starscream said, vocalizer still slurring a bit, and not quite at his most annoyingly suggestive.

Slipstream huffed from her vents. “I'll just download into my secondary processor when we're close.”

“That was sarcasm, right?”

“Yes! Are all your receptors overcharged? Focus. I am trying to work physics equations while overcharged myself.”

“Technobabble is the last thing to go when I drink too much,” Starscream said, “Let me work it. You should be able to lift me with well placed fulcrum, at least enough to free yourself. He's tiny, so you can take him once you're free.”

Babble, anyway, Slipstream thought. “Wireless connect to me. There's not much time. I think you need to transform.”

Starscream opened the wireless connection, too overcharged to realize he was giving the Intelligence Officer unguarded access to his processor. He received the schematics Slipstream had generated and accompanying mathematical data. It looked quite viable. “If you time it correctly, and you have estimated my apparent mass correctly, it all checks as valid. But, why not...?”

“You'll end up facing the wrong direction or be too heavy to transform without me stuck under here to give you lift! Just trust me.”

“I do.”

Slipstream was just a little surprised at how lucid and honest that answer had sounded. “On my command.” Slipstream wriggled and stretched to position herself just so, with her feet below Starscream's and her hands bracing his cockpit section to keep it stationary. “Transform,” she said.

It hurt, which was not normal, but it was the weight difference only; there was no sign of binding, burrs or stripping. Starscream felt Slipstream's legs give him a boost. Somehow, maybe because she was good with physics, or had intimate knowledge of their shared transformation scheme, Slipstream was able to help Starscream transform.

Slipstream was still pinned, but now instead of Starscream being sprawled atop her with his head on her chest, she was lying beneath an upside down fighter jet, with her legs nearly free. This was part of her plan. “Step two,” she said, with a little strain. Using the curve of Starscream's cockpit canopy as a fulcrum, Slipstream slowly pushed up against the dorsal plating and wings of the jet so that thrusters tipped up and nose inclined down between her legs. She fired her thrusters first. They were strong enough to break her own mass from the gravity well of a small planet and with her legs positioned precisely, she was able to lift them both a bit. “Now,” she ordered, pushing the aft of the jet upward and forward. Starscream fired his thrusters. The thrust in opposing directions from one above and the other below put them in a spin. Starscream's nose just grazed the floor, and they both tumbled. Starscream landed, appropriately, on his landing gear, and Slipstream landed atop the silver jet.

“Knees on wings, not so comfortable.”

Slipstream twisted and turned so that she sat atop Starscream.

“Oh, so much better,” he said sarcastically.

Slipstream smirked and patted his cockpit canopy. “I was pinned under you.”

“I mean it. I feel heavy. I might fall through the floor.”

“You're not-” Slipstream started, but then she had a second thought. She was no structural engineer that she knew how much pressure this particular floor could withstand. Though their combined weight had not been a problem when lying sprawled together, that same weight was now supported by three narrow points of contact, rather than distributed across the flat planes of her body. The resulting pressure on each point would be many times greater. Slipstream stood quickly, keeping her left arm-mounted null ray trained on their small attacker.

“Did you plan how I get out of here?”

“Taxi. Runway. Wheels. Mechanical advantage. Apply thrust.”

“You sound like Scalpel.” 

Slipstream was only giving a fraction of her consciousness to the conversation. She was searching Starscream's own memory for the identity of the Mini-con. She was sure the small grey, white and purple Cybertronian was of that faction. They were Cybertronian as much as the Seekers were, only small in scale and from a previously neutral faction. At present, most tended to ally themselves as Autobot or Decepticon. He was too small to be mere mini-bot, and his brands and markings ruled out his being a Micromaster, which were similar in size, but had completely different programming and history of faction alliance. It was as doubtful he was created as a symbiont, as Scalpel seemed to be, though it was not entirely unheard of that a symbiont had a bipedal, bilateral android root form.

“Starcatcher. He works for Astrotrain as a tech in his bounty hunting operations.”

“We were set-up!” Starscream said.

Slipstream was already attempting to get through to her brothers. She was unable to reach them via any of their usual schemes. “Either they are incapacitated or there's selective radio jamming.” If all wireless communication were out, it would be noticed by the station as control would be unable to contact incoming vessels, and Slipstream would not be able to dive Starscream. Even as she considered it she sensed the attempted back hack.

Starscream's technique demonstrated innovative thought and frightening ability to anticipate what manner of defenses she would have used, but was overall clumsy and just obvious. Slipstream was tempted to play ignorant and just have fun monitoring the attempt at accessing her systems, but they had more important things to do. “We can play later?” Slipstream said as she closed the connection.

“Promise?” Suggestive tone again. Mentally, Starscream scolded himself; He was intelligent enough to have figured out Slipstream disliked that manner of speech. 

Slipstream ignored the comment. She watched for attack as Starscream rolled from the Black Hole. “What should we do?”

“You're the Commander. I'm just a figurehead.”

Sure he was, Slipstream thought bitterly. “We can try to secure a ship to escape; we can try to get to a working communication device to warn the others; or we might go to a location we expect others to be to try to help them.”

“And?” Starscream asked. The crowd in the corridor were looking at him as if he were some raffle prize.

“I should not decide.”

“You decide things all the time: deciding things won't work, deciding to resurrect a mech from the beyond, or deciding to avoid giving straightforward answers.” 

“I said 'should', not 'can'!” Slipstream snapped. “My instinct is always to avoid harm by taking the path of least resistance. With a goal, I can use that to devise an efficient plan, but without a decided goal, in danger, my instincts say: evade, run, hide. I know that will not help my brothers, so I am already resisting my nature to avoid resistance!”

Starscream was certain now that Slipstream did not really want to let him know all that. If calm and sober, she would have said something confusing to avoid be pinned down to the truth about herself. He was starting to understand Slipstream. Starscream spoke as soberly as he could manage. “You are strong. Focus on the core problem, not potential outcomes or threats. We are in a frequented space station, so ships can be found at any time. That leaves two paths. Think about it. Which goal is most logical?”

Focus, Slipstream repeated to herself, do not let your emotions get the best of you. “Unless you know otherwise, I only definitely know where Skywarp went. Therefore, it makes sense to head for the theater in Side 5 now, going through the central cylinder. If on the way a location of a communications device or another of our allies is discovered, it would be logical to reassess at that time.”

“Then go.”

Without Starscream? It was true he would slow her down in his condition, but...

“You can never really be Air Commander if you let emotional attachment decide mission rosters or assignments. It will just be this game you and Thundercracker are playing at.”

Slipstream flinched. She felt as if Starscream were suddenly Glyph assaulting her with words that could do her real harm. She wanted to apologize and say that she understood now he was a better leader than she had ever known and that she, in her youth, had failed to see how wise he was. But, none of that was what a good Air Commander would do. “Understood, Aster Zero. I'm, going after Aster Two. His skills are mission vital. If we are unable to contact each other, our physical rendezvous point will be the lobby of the hotel in Side 6.”

'Fair winds, Trix,' Starscream said silently, wishing Slipstream luck.

The Autobot bounty hunter had a fifty percent chance of picking the correct theater and retaining the element of surprise; odds were better if he considered the behavioural profile of his Decepticon targets. He was not much of a gambler, though he had been unfortunately mistaken for a certain other Autobot, over whom some unscrupulous persons held debts, in not a few space ports. Still, he took the chance on the horror movie and it paid off.

Neither Thundercracker nor Skywarp noticed the Autobot approach. The horror movie was at a gory climax and they sat close to each other in the darkened theater, not bothering to watch for enemies. In one of the wide aisles, the bounty hunter quickly transformed into a dark, curvaceous racer. He immediately deployed his sound and light show modifications, something not unpopular with Autobot racing models who had need to go behind enemy lines, or who enjoyed music.

The high decibel music and horn blasts combined with the brilliant car lamps and optical effects projectors assaulted the sensory receptors of the two Seekers and many others in the theater. The attack was all the more effective for the fact their receptors had adjusted to the darkness to allow more light to enter their optical lenses and receptors.

Thundercracker was so strongly affected, having been closer to the assault, that his processor overloaded with the sensory data and he fell into temporary stasis. Skywarp was yet able to move, but even after the sound and light show was deactivated, all he could hear was a droning ring and all he could see were flashing afterimages. The numerous running, blinded patrons made tracking by radar or sonar pings ineffective. He did not even know if Thundercracker were still online. Skywarp, in an utter panic, fired untrained null rays into the theater.

The Autobot, transformed to root mode, then hit Skywarp with a disabling venom laser, originally designed for taking down predatory animals and beasts. As Skywarp went down, Scalpel realized they would all be captured, if he did not find a way to either send for help or hold-off the Autobot. Skywarp was blinded, deafened and now paralyzed, as the venom reacted with his fluids to inhibit flow to necessary motor functions.

Scalpel flipped a hinged joint in one of his spindly legs to reveal an interface plug and accessed a port within Skywarp's cockpit. Using his emergency medical code knowledge, Scalpel quickly assumed control of Skywarp's primary systems. Scalpel looked up through the cockpit canopy, and through the lenses of his tech specs to view the Autobot's data. The spectacles enabled Scalpel to decode, as it were, the data contained within the spark, by viewing its radiant energy through the appropriate spectral analytics.

Having the data on the Autobot, Crosswise, Scalpel activated Stormshadow in autonomous mode with a defensive combat directive. 

The holomatter doll appeared balanced atop the back of a theater seat, a pair of swords on his back, but armored only in a ruffle-trimmed black dress with billowy undergarments and various other accessories in purple. The specialized line of communication between mechanism and modified Avatar was functioning, though Scalpel detected jamming over a significant portion of the radio frequencies. “Crystalocution technique suggested,” Scalpel chirped and toned to the doll.

Crosswise was distracted and a little confused by the doll. Autobots also had their own manner of holomatter technology including avatars, in fact they claimed to have invented the technology before Decepticons had stolen it. But a usual avatar could not well operate when its host mech was so disabled.  
As well, this one looked distinctly human, and Crosswise was one of few Autobots that had explored their planet in the past. He had not been there in many Earth-centuries, but he knew the human form. This one looked to be a young woman from the orient in girlish, occidental attire.

“Dishonorable Autobot,” Stormshadow said in English accented with Japanese, Decepticon and 'Net jargon. “Attack my mech and our leader when they are at leisure and not on the battlefield, yes? Think you truly know the art and are one who can endure, as I, yes? Or you just here for the cookies?”

As Stormshadow distracted Crosswise with his taunts, Scalpel worked quickly to shut down or reroute flow of Skywarp's circulatory systems to reserve as much unaffected fuel as possible and keep it flowing about spark, processor, and holomatter projection and control systems. If they were going to last much longer, Scalpel needed to get at least one of the Seekers functional. Thundercracker's senses would be restored if he was booted from stasis mode and had cover enough to do so without Crosswise employing his show again. Skywarp was actually semi-conscious, but too disabled, poisoned and panicked to function on his own.

Scalpel used his control over Skywarp's systems to pilot the mech in an awkward movement of drag and crawl, so that he then lay leaning over Thundercracker.

Crosswise did not miss the movement, but his attempt to target Skywarp with another weapon was intercepted by Stormshadow, who used a quick crystalocution technique with his swords to strike at specific seams, joints and structural pressure points in rapid succession. Crosswise leapt back even as Stormshadow did, and for a moment seemed unaffected by the attack, but when he attempted to use the arm Stormshadow had struck, it fell completely limp, and a section of shoulder armor, with the attached car door, fell off to the theater floor.

Scalpel used all his available time to scramble from Skywarp's cockpit into that of Thundercracker. The design was exactly the same, but the interior lacked Skywarp's collection of cute, small images and trinkets and had a lighter tone of grey material covering the seat that complemented the exterior accents on Thundercracker's shoulder and chest armor. Scalpel skittered over Thundercracker's control and initiated start-up. He had only been stunned by the sensory overload, so assuming Stormshadow bought them time, Thundercracker should soon wake from stasis and even have his vision and hearing restored.

Crosswise walked in sideways fashion to the closest exit, to check for any interference. A few patrons still cowered in the periphery of the theater and the holo still played through its gory conclusion, but otherwise the theater had emptied and no ushers or station security officers had yet made attempt to enter. Times like this, Crosswise wished he worked with a partner. There was a lot of competition in the area, he had noticed. The double-crossing reptilians must have made identical offers to all the bounty hunters and trackers they knew, hoping to make profit, while gaining assistance in taking the large number of bounty heads. If one of his competitors were not jamming so much bandwidth, he could probably comm Devcon and make some kind of deal.

Crosswise looked back into the theater, tracking the strange holomatter avatar. Stormshadow did not attack, but maintained defensive stance in front of the two grounded Seekers. A voice called over the station-wide public announcement system; its closed-circuit system unaffected by the jamming. “Zoroaster, Dr. Zoroaster Naksatra, please join your party at the central information desk.” The message was repeated in several languages, but the pronunciation of the name remained the same.

Crosswise, who had done some hunting on Earth in past centuries, understood enough Sanskrit and later Mediterranean dialects to understand this as a likely code to Starscream's Earth-sparked clones, the names clearly referenced Earth and 'star'.

Scalpel did not understand any Earth languages, but he heard the 'aster' in the name which the Seeker clones had designated for use in call-signs. He skittered back into Skywarp's cockpit, hoping the message meant there were allies yet able to come to their aid.

Just as Crosswise was considering the message and how to move his quarry, a visible beam of energy like a brilliant magenta-tinged flash, struck the Autobot in his uninjured right side. “Null ray!” Scalpel chirped happily. Crosswise staggered as his electrical systems were nullified, stopping flow to his circuits. He fell back onto some theater seats as Slipstream cautiously slunk into the theater. 

Slipstream checked the area for additional enemies, and detecting none, quickly unsubsaced her pair of stasis cuffs, gave them one spin about an upraised claw, and then cuffed Crosswise at his wrists. As soon as she had the enemy secure, Slipstream rushed to her brothers. Both were fallen in the narrow space between rows of theater seats and near the rear of the theater.

Scalpel pushed Skywarp's canopy open from within and crawled out. “Scalpel! What happened? Can you help them?” Slipstream glanced at Stormshadow who was again perched atop a seat and in a defensive posture.

“Thundercracker: coming online. Skywarp: further treatment required.”

Slipstream kept one hand in contact with Skywarp's shoulder and looked to Thundercracker. His optics lit as she watched, and she heard systems whir into function. “Sir, Thundercracker, are you online?”

Thundercracker was then aware on lying on a floor with some weight across his midsection. There was a sort of glitched buzzing in his audio receptors, but within the buzz, he could identify Slipstream's voice and words. “Is Skywarp..?”

“Aster Two is down, but Scalpel is treating him.” 

Down. Thundercracker reached with his sensors to learn his situation. There was movement registering, all a seeing safe distance from them, behind walls in most cases. There was a faint Autobot signal nearby. “Was it an Autobot?” Thundercracker could see Skywarp leaning over him with barely lit optics, and Scalpel perched atop his own cockpit canopy, and Slipstream kneeling at his side. He had a partial view of the doll standing somewhere elevated, behind Slipstream.

“Crosswise. Hunter.”

“Sir, please, tell me if you are functional. The others are also in some danger. If any of us are able, we need to move quickly.”

Thundercracker heard, but he did not answer. Instead he shifted his weight toward Skywarp. He felt colder than usual. Thundercracker could not sense his energy at all, not for several frightfully long centicycles. “What is wrong with him?” Skywarp felt intensely frightened and in pain. “Skywarp?”

Scalpel, crawling over Thundercracker's armor, up Slipstream's arm, and onto her shoulder, transformed partially and projected a chart of medical data into the dimness. The two alert Seekers read the tabular data. It was a standard format, their memories supplied, displaying a summary of steps from symptoms through diagnosis and treatment. Thundercracker's entry showed a diagnosis of sensory overload induced crash resulting from sound and light show and then a medically induced restart from stasis. 

“My audios are still glitching,” Thundercracker admitted, “I will need replacement parts, if my self-repair systems cannot correct the buzzing.”

Skywarp's entry showed a diagnosis of loss of audio and optical sensory perception caused by sound and light show assault, loss of motor function resulting from direct hit by venom laser, and finally emotional trauma resulting from the attack. Scalpel had listed his treatments, which were only emergency procedures to stabilize his patient until further treatment were possible. The most recently added entries indicated complication and recommendation for further treatment. Skywarp was reacting especially badly to the venom laser and required a combination of stasis and recharge as well as replenishment of fluids.

“'Warp,” Thundercracker whispered as he touched his claws to Skywarp's face. He did not even know if Skywarp could feel his touch. “If you can sense my presence at all, know that I promise we will do all we can to make you better. Slipstream is here, and Scalpel.

“Can we do anything?” Slipstream asked Scalpel, on her shoulder. Thundercracker's audios had not been functioning normally, but Scalpel could hear the faint slur. He turned about and lifted a claw to Slipstreams faceplate to turn her optics toward him. Her optics were rather bright, but wavering in intensity.

“Overcharged,” he scolded.

“Just a bit,” Slipstream said defensively, as another surge ran through her systems and caused her vocalizer to hitch. “Our generous Liege was buying, and I'd never actually been overcharged before to know my tolerance. We're not exactly swimming in high grade.” She saw Thundercracker cradling Skywarp in his embrace whispering assurances to him, which Skywarp could not hear. “Starscream was in bad shape, too...'

Scalpel trilled laughter. Their affection was too obvious when they forgot themselves and said each other's names.

Slipstream touched her helm, perhaps a sign of her slow thought or difficulty in processing information logically. “The venom laser. Would the Autobot have an antidote?” She should have through to try some reverse setting on the gravity rod rifle in order to enable Starscream to come with her. He should have thought of it!

“No antidote. Designed for large beasts. To wear off in time.”

Slipstream shook her head as if to clear her thoughts. “Thundercracker, Sir, I care for Skywarp, too, but I am sure that announcement was a code from Ramjet. I mean, I think it would have been something he would do. The Liege and I had already arranged a rendezvous point, so it was not him. Do you understand? Those reptilians devised some kind of trap, called in all the bounty hunters they could on us. The others may have been captured. We need to regroup as soon as possible, as many of us as can be found. If someone were missing...”

“We need to take Skywarp somewhere safe.”

“We can't let emotion affect our decisions. Starscream said-”

“I do not give a slag what that fragger says!” Thundercracker bellowed. “You are the one who cares about that glitch.” He called to Scalpel, “Doctor!”

Scalpel jumped from Slipstream's shoulder and skittered across the floor and onto Skywarp's torso.

Slipstream stood and watched, fuming at Thundercracker for yelling at her. “I've been loyal, defended you to him! I believed you were good enough to really be our leader, not just play pretend!”

“I have no time for this, Slipstream,” Thundercracker ground out irritably. “Doctor,” he said to Scalpel, “would the venom-affected fluids permanently deactivate the Autobot?”

“No.”

“Then you would not refuse a request to transfuse their fluids. You can perform an exchange between Autobot and Decepticon?”

“Can be done.”

“Then do it. The Autobot did this to Skywarp, yet he lies there full of clean energon. His dishonor deserves fair punishment.”

“Not all fluids compatible. Move patients close. Will exchange what I can.”

“Stormshadow, can you communicate with Skywarp, inside?” Thundercracker asked.

“Hai.” Stormshadow said affirmatively.

“Deactivate your holomatter and tell Skywarp we are doing what we can to help him.”

“Hai.”

“The rendezvous is the lobby of the hotel in Side 6,” Slipstream said, “Since you are both occupied, as Third, I will assign myself to inform the others of the rendezvous and do what I can for any in danger. And, I want my stasis cuffs back when you are done with the Autobot.”

“Acknowledged,” Thundercracker said quietly.

Slipstream planned first to check the central information desk. It could be a trap, but there was also a significant probability that one of her brothers had escaped attempt at being captured and had made the announcement as warning and request to regroup.

She worried a bit about Thundercracker, but mostly about Starscream. She felt she should have thought to try using the gravity rod rifle to reverse the mass effect.

Starscream was where Slipstream had left him, but not inactive. He waited for Starcatcher to online. The Min-con onlined, finally. He found himself restrained within a small vehicle cockpit, in which he just barely fit. An organic alien sat straddling his legs. It was some kind of biped with bilateral symmetry to its form. The being was smooth-skinned and thus perhaps from a watery world, with ugly brown skin like rust and bright red-oxide eyes. It had what was either very long shiny fur or a very lank black crest atop its head. As well, the creature appeared clothed in some red-colored uniform and even seemed, if he were reading the alien features correctly, to be smirking smugly at him.

“Hello, Starcatcher,” It said, “Online, are we? Let's talk.”

Starcatcher's optics dimmed with fear. He only appeared to be facing an alien. The commanding, yet irreverent tone and high-pitched Vosian-accented Decepticon were right out of Starscream's file. Even the red colors and the smug expression. Starcatcher realized he was looking at a puppet, an avatar. “Starscream,” he beeped. 

The avatar put a hand to Starcatcher's neck and applied pressure to the lightweight plating until Starcatcher began to feel the flow of energon to his processor restricted. “More or less,” he said, leaning in close, “Thought you could live up to your name? Tired of just playing navigator for Astrotrain as he plows through the galaxy? You are going to tell me everything you know about this bounty operation.”

“What operation?” Starcatcher said in his Mini-con machine language. “I was just mad your Seekers got my bulk in an Autobot prison!”

Starscream squeezed Starcatcher's throat a little harder. “You will tell me.”

“Really, it is just me. I had you, too. Got a new mod? That blaster in your head is not in your file.”

“Nor will it ever be,” Starscream said through his avatar's malevolent smile.


	22. Lacuna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be Furmanisms here

Ramjet did not like the wide, grinning smile on their tracker. He switched off the targeting display subroutine within his optical processing; the beast-former receded into the crowd, no longer highlighted in target-lock. “Still on our trail,” Ramjet whispered. Red was at his side, a small gun in hand. She said she did not ordinarily see value in handguns. It was some Autobot principle, Ramjet gathered; though they certainly found tools and implements enough to wound Decepticons in battle, even disdaining use of hand guns. In any case, Red had informed him that she had allowed her inventor friend to give her a few parting gifts, including an array of disabling ammo and devices, just for emergencies.

They were within the central cylinder designated Side 1, between Control and the observation area. The environment was close to zero g; objects might eventually be drawn toward the curved walls and stick there slightly, if not affected by another force. Ramjet and Red Alert were hiding, such as they could, behind a food vendor's stall. “I do think he is tracking by scent,” Red Alert whispered back to Ramjet.

The tracker did seem to be progressing on their trail a little slower since they had started deliberately hiding near sources of strong odors, but this was not exactly preferable to being found in Ramjet's CPU. “I agree he is advancing slower, but we could just take him out.”

“We need to think about it a while longer,” Red asserted. Until they both decided her way was correct, Ramjet guessed. “I do not know him, but his brands make him out to be from an off-shoot of the Autobot faction. He could be a legitimate tracker. You are an escaped fugitive, after all. If you kill him without need, they'll only be disposed to raising the bounty or sending more hunters. If you leave him on the trail, at least well have an advantage of knowing our enemy.”

“I love you,” Ramjet said seriously, looking with all sincere fondness at his intended, “but we are going to have philosophical differences.”

“I know.” On both counts. They were in agreement that neither was really going to switch factions and that they wished to be together despite the differences.

“If it truly makes a difference to you, I don't have to permanently deactivate him to put him out of commission for a long while.”

“We can evade him a while longer, Ramjet.”

“I hope you stay like this.”

“Like what?” Red Alert asked, becoming self-conscious and needing to take a calming breath.

“Being a real challenge.”

“You like that I don't take slag from you?”

“Oh, I hate it.”

Red Alert smiled wide. “I suppose I am everyone's favorite rival.”

“But, I am able to admit it. You're my red hot science bot.”

Red laughed. “Sounds like the title of a really bad holo.”

“Yeah. I'll play the delivery mech who is in for a surprise and stays to join the action.”

“Ramjet!” Red hissed, giving him a shove. The movement caused her to float away from him.

Ramjet twisted to avoid the brunt of the attack and laughed, “But you got the joke!”

“I just heard about such things from someone else.” She extended an arm towards Ramjet.

“The hot rod, probably,” Ramjet snarked. He took Red Alert's left hand and drew her back toward him into hiding. He looked again for their attacker, stretching sensors out on all three axes. He located him again and highlighted the tracker in target lock. He was in range, but far enough that there were a lot of variables to account for in the distance between them. Firing now would serve best to announce Ramjet's position to the tracker.

Ramjet recalled the positions in which they had seen the tracker, attempting to discover some underlying search pattern or definite method behind his movements. He had originally believed it a circular pattern, but there had been distinct deviation since then. Red Alert believed it was scent based, as the tracker seemed to return to a place he knew along their path, or to a location they had been at multiple times, and then move on again from there.

The tracker, appeared to have some manner of aquatic beast alt-mode. It was harder to tell with some Transformers, but spotting a not-so-well-integrated tail, fin or maw was sometimes as easy as spotting the truck cab on an Autobot's back or large turbines on a Decepticon with jet alt. 

Red Alert whispered to Ramjet in Decepticon, “Do you think the trail is easier for him to follow where thrust was used to navigate the low gravity?”

“Yes.” That corresponded well to Ramjet's observations. Their scent trail was stronger where engines, rockets and various thrusters had been in use. Fuel was burned and exhaust released as part of the normal function. Even compressed air thrusters would leave a scent distinct from the surrounding atmosphere; the compression process caused condensation or vaporization that resulted in lossiness that left the air slightly different in composition than that which had come through intake vents. It was canned air distinct from the space station's own canned air. 

“If we get past him and move by foot through the outer levels...” Red Alert started, “Oh, but then anyone answering our call would be more likely to be tracked.”

“Or he would lose our trail and backtrack until he had another and end up tracking allies. Red, we've got to at least stun him, or trap him, so he cannot track any of us until we can regroup and find a way off this station. The way comms are jammed, the others are probably being hunted or tracked as well.”

Slipstream entered the central Side 1 from a railed staircase at the top of Side 5. The outward surfaces of the central cylinder were covered with tiers of railed pathways, automated people movers, ladders and bumpers, all to provide ease of movement between spokes of the space station for the greatest amount of beings possible. The center area was taken up with layers of amusement and diversion: food stalls, zero g dance areas, thrill rides, games, and performers. The large open areas were freely traversed by those who knew to apply thrust or shift bodily mass to propel themselves. Some others had rented devices to propel themselves through the open space.

The information desk was clearly marked, and Slipstream moved toward it, wary it might be a trap. She flowed gracefully through a dance area with flashing light and writhing bodies of many alien shapes. She kicked off from a rail to propel herself further toward the desk. Finally she used maneuvering thrusters.

The shark moved stealthily, yet was easy to detect once he was close. Tracker through he was, the mech employed no signal dampening. His energy signature read vaguely Autobot. As the tracker approached, Slipstream detected an incoming laser comm from Ramjet. She did not received the message, but assumed it was warning. She had to move out of receiving position to evade the shark's lunge at her.

Slipstream had her share of flaws, but zero g maneuvers was not among them. She sailed out of reach and saw the shark twist and aim a weapon toward her. The shot missed, but covered a portion of the platform on which the desk was secured with a mixture of gooey adhesive and ragged shrapnel. Crustation rifle, she decided.

Ramjet and Red Alert made their way toward the desk, viewing the exchange as they went. They could see Slipstream had her own weapons trained on the tracker. Red Alert was resolved with the idea that the tracker would have to be subdued. She expected the attack from Slipstream. But, it was Starscream that took him down.

He flew toward the desk in jet alt-mode, and rammed the shark-like tracker in surprisingly Ramjet fashion, then quickly transformed and landed atop the tracker, whose body was still scraping against the platform from the force of the impact. Ramjet alighted beside them. “You do know I have mass-shifting and localized forcefields to allow me to crash without damage...right?”

“Shut up,” Starscream said. He was hurt. He'd taken the force of their impact along the right side of his cockpit, which showed scraped paint, and the front of his right wing, which now appeared warped.

Slipstream tumbled gracefully toward them and observed the damage to Starscream. “You're not heavy anymore! What possessed you to do such a thing?” She touched claws lightly to the warped wing.

“I don't know,” Starscream growled. He stood and kicked the hammerhead.

“It was very brave,” Red Alert said kindly, “and well-aimed.” She glanced to the fallen mech. His chest had a deep dent, as if from the back of a sword, which of course in this case had been Starscream's wing. The damage was in proximity to main fuel pump and spark chamber and might actually be fatal if not treated. She had no doubt Starscream was in pain, but the injuries were not by any means as serious. “If you let me, I can fix your wing later, or fit a replacement if we have one. Do you want anything for the pain?”

Starscream still did not feel at ease around Red Alert. He did not know how to act. As far as he could tell, she really did treat him as if they were still fellow students and the war and lifetime in opposing factions did not factor into the relationship. She was probably in love with his clone. He still had that first courtship protocol running in the back of his processor. He should probably just shut it off.

“The masochist would like to suffer a while longer,” Ramjet answered for him.

“Oh, I would have thought sadist,” Red Alert said coyly.

This did nothing to ease Starscream and made Slipstream flinch for some reason. The way he kept going after Megatron, coming back for more pain, she thought.

Ramjet did not care. It was funny how obviously awkward the others felt. “Do we need this one for questioning?”

“Surplus to requirements,” Starscream said, “I already interrogated the little bounty hunter that came after us in the bar.”

“What are you going to do?” Red Alert asked. “His injuries might be fatal.”

“Just leave him. Security's been paid off by another of the bounty hunters,” Starscream informed the others. “I am not sure of the full number, but there are at least seven, including the back-stabbing reptilians. This one is Cybershark, from some Autobot colony world.”

“Two down then?” Ramjet asked.

“Three, at least,” Slipstream corrected, “I helped take the Autobot bounty hunter called Crosswise. He did put Skywarp in fairly bad shape, before that. Thundercracker and Scalpel are doing what they can to treat him.”

“What is the nature of the damage?” Red Alert inquired, medi-bot protocols asserting themselves.

“I saw his chart. Audio and optical senses nearly overloaded, paralyzed by venom laser, with emotional trauma from the circumstances of the attack and physical complications due to reaction to the venom laser. I think they were attempting to transfuse him with some fresh fluids.”

“I am able to give assistance. Where are they now?”

“Probably still in the holo theater in Side 5. If security has been paid off, well, it does explain the lack of interference there.”

“You should not go alone,” Ramjet told Red.

“My mission here was to pass along instructions to rendezvous in Side 6, at the hotel lobby, then go seek the others.”

“At least two hunters left, plus Slizardo and Xukus.”

“I checked the Sue,” Starscream said. “It was being truthfully being serviced and the reptilians were not at the dock. I had our personal cargo removed as a precaution. I suppose the two to have gone after either Dirge and Swindle, or the other three. I think Dirge and Swindle would have gone to the casino, but I do not know that for certain. I suspect I know where Vortex would have taken the others.”

“That narrows it down,” Ramjet said bitterly.

“It is only a guess, but Uncle Vortex might have taken the young mechs to get massages.”

“Tell me that is not euphemism for something else,” Slipstream groaned.

“Pleasure palaces and massage parlors are both nearly as common as oil houses on Cybertron. Do Decepticons really have some moral code against such things? There are some religious authorities who decry so-called pleasures of the shell; but in truth not everybot can be so fortunate to find one to whom they will bond in their youth, yet everybot has the same natural need for comfort, companionship and some type of affection.”

“Debate it later,” Starscream said, and sighed. What Decepticons found moral was complicated and inconsistent through the history of the faction. And personally, his present middle-aged struggles were just as complicated. “Slipstream, since you know the way, will you show Red Alert to Skywarp? After that, if you and any other are able, look for Dirge and Swindle. They may be in the casino in Side 7. Ramjet, if you would, come with me to look for Sunstorm and the other two. I saw an ad for a Chromite parlor located in Side 4; if they are not there, we will have to designate a search pattern and search outward from there.”

“Starscream is not your superior in our military chain of command, but I am. Do as he requests.”

“Commander,” Ramjet acknowledged.

“I will do as you suggest, My Liege, and rendezvous at the hotel, if I do not see you before.”

Starscream gave a nod.

“I will let you show me to Skywarp,” Red Alert told Slipstream, after Ramjet had flown away after Starscream. Slipstream knew Red Alert did not really like or trust her, but she did not honestly care about it. She did trust that Red Alert had fine medical ethics. She was probably trusting that as soon as they left some other generous individual would get aid for the shark.

“It's a direct route,” Slipstream assured her, “The Liege just wants us to go together for our mutual safety.

“Yes, Starscream did act quite rashly when he saw you under attack.”

“He does a lot of stupid rash things, not that it is for you to say,” Slipstream quipped. She fired her thrusters and leapt toward the entrance to Side 5.

“I know how he lets his emotions best him,” Red Alert said, using the small rockets on her back to follow the Seeker. “But surely that was a most possessive and territorial reaction to your distress.”

Slipstream greatly disliked Red Alert's cool authoritative tone. It made her feel like a specimin under study. “Firstly, I was not in distress, and secondly, just because we are both femme, we do not have to discuss relationships and feelings all the time.”

“You dislike the visceral. You would prefer to deal with abstracts and concepts. With data and information, rather than other beings.”

“Do not try to psychoanalyze me, Doctor. I have a fair grasp on social engineering as well as information technologies. I know you act cool, but you're exactly as temperamental and prone to affectation as the rest of us. So, welcome to the family, I guess.”

“Point taken,” Red Alert said, and then exhaled a cool breath through rounded lips. “But, you and Starscream are still walking so carefully about each other on your turbine heels and apparently not courting, or consorting or even daring to be physical without serious commitment.”

“I'm not that casual!” Slipstream snapped, “and it really is not your place. You are not my maker, or my sister, or even my friend. I already know it is not going to work out! I still have every right to socialize how and with whom I want, until I find one who really is for me.”

“How do you know it is not him, if you never actively dated or courted?”

“I don't need to court him. Clearly it would not work out. Given our preferences and abilities it is just not theoretically possible. I know him quite well enough from the lifetime of his memories inside me that I can tell you we cannot give each other what we want.”

“So, you based this serious, life-altering decision on extrapolation, projections, and theory, rather than practical experimentation, and then get annoyed when I say you shy from the visceral?”

“The lift on this side will take us to the theater,” Slipstream said, avoiding the question.

“I know we are not friends, Slipstream, but we have all been living in close quarters. Starscream has never been very good with relationships. Everything is a front. But we can all see he's trying. Recently he is acting exactly very like a mech who is courting you, even if not formally doing so. If you feel anything for him-”

“That's just his ego trying to disprove my conclusion!” Slipstream broke in. Then quietly, “He has no intention of actually courting me.” Slipstream touched the interactive map to indicate their destination level near the theater.

“And you cannot court him either?”

“Exactly. That is why it will not work out. It is like two positively magnetized poles trying to touch each other.”

“The interaction between those magnetic fields can be pretty charged, even if they do not physically touch. And, there's always the old 'invert polarity'. And you should appreciate that, mathematically speaking, there are times when combining two like signs has a positive result. It need not be true only that 'opposites attract'.” 

“I get that you mean well – not that I get why you mean well – but it's just not going to work. We could experiment and still conclude we are not a good match. Why go through that loss?”

“Slipstream, if you were truly not matched, there would be no sense of loss.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Slipstream whispered. “Skywarp is the one who needs your help. We are almost there.”

“Skywarp is doing fine,” Red Alert said quietly.

They could not say the same, assuredly, for Slipstream's other brothers. The remaining bounty hunters were still after Dirge, Sunstorm, and their companions.

Lockdown decided he had waited outside the Chromite parlor long enough. There was a chance, he decided, that though the jamming was still in effect, Sunstorm and the other two had somehow gotten wise to his approach and found an alternate exit. Lockdown made it a habit to be familiar with his hunting grounds, and he was certain the Chromites had access to some rear service and supply passage, but it should only have been the Chromites.

He had dealt with their race in the past. The Chromites could not be persuaded to give up trade secrets or client information, and they would not be bribed as a rule, but they could be threatened to look the other way once in a while.

Lockdown entered the parlor. He made a show of switching out his hook for his chainsaw mod. “You don't know I'm here,” he said to the Chromite receptionist. He continued on, noticing that the interior had a number of translucent, rigid privacy panels to protect either the secrets of their art or the identity of particular clients from others within the parlor. Lockdown could view silhouettes against the panels and hear something of what was spoken. Lockdown listened for Sunstorm's sycophantic flattery.

There were bounties on Vortex and BB, but the highest of the three was on Sunstorm. It seemed Sentinel acting-Magnus took personal offense that one of the Seekers he had 'captured' had escaped. Of course, Lockdown knew very well Sentinel had assistance in capturing the suck-up; he had been the one to turn him over to the then-Prime, while on Earth.

Lockdown progressed through the parlor, noting the Chromites that shied from his armament and ushered clients out of his way. Lockdown was nearly to the back of the Chromite's establishment when he heard some gratuitous praise. He stopped to listen. The voices were muffled somewhat by the privacy panel and materials beyond, but he could detect three separate speech patterns and just one sounded like Chromite accented Cybertronix. 

Lockdown could see what looked like the silhouette of a mech laying on a rack with wings upward and a thin Chromite standing with its hands on the larger mech.

“...thick cables in tight housing...” The Chromite said. Silhouette seeming to rub hands along some part of the other mech's body.

There was a lull in which voices decreased in volume, but Lockdown thought he heard a low-toned affirmative that might have been BB.

He heard the praising client, “...your hands...yes...grasp there...”

“Give a tug here, Sir?”

“Oh, yes, that will do it.”

There was another lull. Lockdown wondered why they were so secretive about the massage techniques. He heard a low groan and then almost loud in volume, “Is it normal for it to just spill out like that?”

“Normal, Sir. We are just getting started. First time?”

“Yes...our team is not very old.” Lockdown was nearly certain this was Sunstorm.

There was then some indistinct conversation as the Chromite guided the client into another position.

“...yes...it's just a little snug...ah, yes, there...I had no idea that cable could do that...”

“...kinky...”

“That feels so good. Truly. You are so...”

“Ja,” the deeper voice said.

Lockdown decided it was time to make his move. He rushed around the panel, and was entirely puzzled by what he saw there. It was the most bizarre and mundane scene. A big bomber, a jet, a Chromite, set-aside armor and plating, and absolutely perfectly arranged exposed cables.

“Seriously?” Lockdown asked. “Cable keepers and zip ties. That's the ancient secret?”

The Chromite screamed shrilly.

“Who the slag are you?” the blue jet asked. Not Sunstorm; not even a Seeker.

Lockdown raised his right arm to activate his chain saw, and was surprised by three Chromites approaching from behind. They weighed down his arm while another came quickly across and detached his chainsaw mod. Lockdown moved to defend himself, but several more Chromites fell onto his left arm. He felt several others grasp his legs.

“The Chromites take offense when anyone attempts to mock or steal their trade secrets,” the blue jet said, attempting to hide his exposed parts with one arm.

“Ja,” said the blue bomber behind him.

Lockdown could not move. The Chromites were all over him, lifting him, taking his mods! “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

“Pure poetry,” Sunstorm said, watching from the storeroom at the back of the parlor.

“Roger,” said BB, stooping under the low ceiling of the employee-only area.

“We owe Smokesniper and Gigant,” Vortex said seriously.

“BB, did you have a partner, too?” Sunstorm asked. “A counterpart as Smokesniper is to Gigant?”

“Roger,” BB toned sadly.

“Separated, or deactivated?” Sunstorm asked.

BB did not answer. Through the small pane in the door they could see Lockdown being fastened to a rack.

“You are most brave, BB,” Sunstorm observed. “Strong of spark.

“Why in the AllSpark did every bounty hunter, gambler, gangster, swindler and scoundrel in the galaxy have to be in the joint?” Swindle demanded rhetorically as he and Dirge took cover behind an overturned card table.

“We're are in the casino of the most frequently traveled space station in the galaxy,” Dirge deadpanned. “And they are not all here.”

“Right, Smokescreen's missing,” Swindle said sadly. A photon laser blast took out a corner of the table, just beside Swindle's head. “But Sideswipe is here!” Swindle said brightly.

“Yea, foes!” Dirge droned.

Swindle rifled through his transwarp pocket for an interesting weapon. A lot of rifles in there. “Say, Friend, you always this upbeat in a fight?”

A crossfire of red and blue lasers flashed by close to Dirge's outstretched legs. It was battle enough for him that the one Autobot bounty hunter had fired upon them; Dirge could surely take one Autobot. He had not counted on that first shot by Devcon alerting the entire casino to old vengeances. “Just coming to the realization that you have a forcefield and I do not, and I am not immortal anymore because I do not have my shard, because I let my dear sister convince me I wanted a spark!”

“A spark's nothing to sneer at! That prospect of deactivation is what makes one feel alive,” Swindle said. “You wanna borrow this big fraggin' gun of mine?”

Dirge had a big gun of his own, but he did like the concept of acquiring another, even on loan. “Comforting as such a thing feels in hand, I was thinking something smaller and faster. Why? What are you using?”

A humanoid organic jumped, from somewhere behind them, to cover beneath a large wheel fallen from a game of chance.

“I was thinking the nucleon shock gauntlets,” Swindle said as he magnetically clamped one of the pair to the knuckle joints of his left hand.

“Nucleon is a controlled substance...I want some!”

Swindle turned his head and grinned at Dirge as he fit the second gauntlet. “The gauntlets are treaty-restricted, but who cares when they pack a punch of kill everything?”

“Close quarters?”

“You think I only like big guns?”

“Not only. You thinking of fighting our way out of here?”

“Could do, but now I'm just in the mood for a good fight.” He seemed his mean self, which Dirge had not seen in some time.

Dirge heard the whine of an airborne missile and quickly grabbed Swindle and drew him to the floor. The card table splintered as the missile flew over them, and then continued to a bank of coin slots and exploded. “Cars, off-roaders, trucks...Never been a tank,” Swindle said, finding himself lying atop Dirge.

“I would never risk losing you,” Dirge said.

“No.... Your quick action saved us both from the smelting pool.”

“If you are quite serious about taking the offensive, I may be able to give you an additional advantage.”

“Always good to have a partner.” Swindle then sat up and climbed off Dirge, in order to fire his torso-mounted Gatling toward the overturned dice game table, where Devcon had found cover of his own after the missile attack. 

“So long as you remember they are not the ones who scare you...” Dirge stowed his own large cannon and re-mounted both his null rays. He figured the low power consumption and high recovery rate would better enable him to provide Swindle with some cover fire. “Lend me a smaller hand held weapon and I'll cover you. Just remember, it's fine to fear me, so long as you do not fear them, My Friend.”

“High occurrence of inherent special abilities in Seeker builds, makes me wish I were into the slave trade, sometimes.” That small cha-ching sounded again. Swindle sighed, turned and took out something behind Dirge with a scatter blast from his cannon. His left hand retrieved a handgun from transwarp space. “Gyro gun,” he said and continued to describe the weapons assets and features in his friendly salesmech tone.

Dirge took the loaded gyro gun into his right hand then gave a nod as he fired up his engines. The Roar and reek of jet fuel were immediately noticeable. The fear-inducing vibrations from the mournful dirge of engine noise soon caused Swindle to tremble. “I got your back,” Dirge assured him.


	23. Sick Puppy Love

Skywarp onlined again, aware he was lying on his back and that Thundercracker's claws were in his. He could hear Scalpel's excited chirp. He could hear. The shutters on his optics irised open and he could see. Thundercracker was at his left side. Scalpel was perched on his canopy. Red Alert was standing a short distance away. “What happened? How long?” Skywarp tried to sit up. His vision started to go black, again, processor failing to interpret sensory data.

Skywarp panicked: fuel pump speeding, intakes rapidly sucking for air. He felt like he was sinking backward through a tunnel, into a light-less void.

“He's panicking again!” Red Alert said, then cycled a deep calming breath through intake vents and out her mouth, to keep from being panicked herself.

Thundercracker did not need to be told; he had been with Skywarp the longest, and able to recognize a panic attack before he had the benefit of being able to read Skywarp's energy field. “Recline. That is an order, Commander!” Thundercracker pressed Skywarp to the hotel bedding, which in this particular room consisted of a somewhat raised platform, flame retardant foam and swaths of delicate wire mesh.

Skywarp reclined and felt somewhat better. “Sir,” he acknowledged weakly.

“You are very low on fuel, Skywarp,” Red Alert explained, “you need to rest, so that what clean energon we were able to supply can pump to your vital circuits.”

“We are in no immediate danger,” Thundercracker said calmly. He explained that Slipstream had brought Red Alert to them in the theater. Red Alert and Scalpel had managed to drain much of the venomized fluids and transfuse Skywarp with some fresh energon, but more was needed. “Starscream and Ramjet have gone out again to find you some fluids,” Thundercracker explained. “There are a few bounty hunters still around, but we took care of most and are evading the rest. Slipstream has gone with Vortex to safely bring-in Dirge and Swindle. Comms are restored, so we know they are well. It is entirely acceptable you take time to rest.”

“I've been useless.”

“You have never been useless. If you had not earned Scalpel's trust, he would not have been with us to give aid. And if you were not so brilliant, Stormshadow would not have been able to act autonomously to defend us both. And if you had not inspired BB to follow you and join our team, Sunstorm and he could not have so easily convinced Smokesniper and Gigant to aid them in diverting Lockdown.”

“Who are Smokesniper and Gigant?

“A pair of Decepticon bomber and fighter escort jets. They may also be able to help us get to New Kaon.”

“The-?”

“The Reptilians betrayed us. Just rest now. Show that loyalty and trust in your leader that I so value.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Thundercracker continued, “Starscream and Ramjet will not fail to bring fuel back for you. I did not want to leave until you were online again. Sunstorm and I have some arrangements to make regarding travel and security. Red Alert and Scalpel have both promised to stay with you, and BB is here, just in the other room, should you need him.”

“Thanks, Sir, for staying with me. I understand you have other responsibilities.”

“Full debriefing later, Commander, when the doctors see you fit.” Thundercracker gave Skywarp's claws a final squeeze and then rose and departed. Skywarp watched him go, until he was beyond his reclined field of vision.

“I promise I will stay still and rest if you both tell me what has been happening. I was semi-conscious for a while, but I do not clearly remember much after being attacked in the theater. Why would Starscream and Ramjet be working together. They clash almost as badly as RJ does with TC. And why would Vortex be with Slipstream on a retrieval mission? I could only imagine them functioning together in some manner of interrogation.” 

“Interrogation poor topic,” Scalpel said as Red Alert stiffened in posture and took several deep rapid breaths.

“Sorry. Still mad about that.” Skywarp was not certain he had been alone with just these two since that cycle in which Slipstream had dove Red Alert.

“It was not intentional deployment in the sense of there being a choice out of all personnel,” Red Alert said, “It happened because certain of the group rendezvoused earlier than others. In any case, Ramjet is more than just 'the liar'; he has spoken his allegiance and will ultimately respect the chain of command, even if he may sometimes lie and employ dark humor. If there is conflict, it is because the others view Ramjet as a threat.”

“It is Swindle and Dirge to be retrieved,” Scalpel offered.

It made more sense in that respect. Uncle Vortex would make sure that Swindle was reined in, and Slipstream could convince Dirge to come back with her.

They had wrecked the Casino. Devcon had fired the first shot, at Dirge, and then Swindle had fired at Devcon, and then Bosche had realized Devcon was in the casino and shot at him over an old vendetta, and then Devcon had returned fire and accidentally hit a by-standing Decepticon, and then that green construction mech had fired at Devcon, and then Sideswipe had noticed Decepticons were shooting at an Autobot and fired at the green mech....

By then, it was no longer a discreet bounty hunt, or a frontier shoot-out, or even gang-related warfare. There was a full-fledged riot including parties of multiple races, professions and factions. No bribery had been able to excuse the looting of funds and casino tokens, massive destruction to property, and terrorism of actual peaceful, paying clients. Sometime after Swindle had broken out the gauntlets, station security had arrived in force to quell the riot.

The fighting had simply spread out into other areas of Side 7.

Dirge and Swindle were lying low in an emergency stairwell, directly beneath a security camera, so that if anything, it viewed their outstretched legs. Swindle was blissful, optics half-shuttered, cooling system cycling deeply, engine idling a low purr. As much energy as he had expended, he still felt charged.

Swindle really liked gaining wealth, but he loved sealing the deal. A good fight was sometimes even better than the deal, which might be, if he took Doc Smokey seriously, why he cheated so much: so he could get caught and be pressed into a fight. He had a mean side, he knew. He tried not to let it show to clients or allies, until they cheated or double-crossed him. It was usually just under the surface, but some good old-fashioned servo-to-servo ultra-violence tended to sate the meanness in him, so that all that was left was near-complete satisfaction, and the kernel of greed that never left him.

He felt so good, Dirge could probably get him to agree to anything. Swindle was not consciously listening, but he heard every word and might play them back sometime, when he wanted to get a better read on how to get Dirge to agree to a deal. Swindle gathered he was talking about the little riot they'd been involved in and how he was so excited to now possess experience and knowledge. He said he had never been in such intense combat. The kid was so perfectly young, and so innocent, with a delicious edge of 'You're my best friend, but I'd murder you for a magic ring'.

“You were pretty good in the fight. A good mech to have at my back.”

“I gladly accept your compliment. I protect what is mine.”

“You can cover me anytime, Dirge,” Swindle said blissfully.

“Is your vocalizer glitching?”

“What's that, Kid?”

Dirge twisted toward Swindle and touched a single claw-tip to the column of his neck. “There is something I do not understand about your vocalizer. Let me see it.”

Swindle widened his optics a bit, still overall blissful. Dirge now crouched between his legs, poking at his neck. Swindle had seen this side of Dirge before. It was the usual greed, but with a heavy undertone of possessiveness and a keen edge of threat. Swindle did not doubt Dirge could dissect him if not given a reason not to do so. If Dirge ever fell in love, he'd likely immortalize the moment by promptly crushing his intended's spark and then keep their shell around to remember them always.

“Dirge.”

“It did it again,” Dirge insisted. “Just let me see. I'll put it back!”

“No. It's behind my plating, I can't just let you look at it. It's inside me.”

“Do you know the plating on most mechanisms' faceplates and necks is quite pliable and thin? I could tear through it with my claws.” Dirge scraped a handful of claws across Swindle's throat. “I could pierce it with fangs, if I wanted to.”

“Listen, Dirge, you're kinda spoiling my bliss, so can you just back off. I'm not really in the mood to die today...well, maybe just a little death.”

“Stop doing that!” Dirge cried, “Why does it glitch only when you say my name?”

“I'm not glitching!”

“I won't hurt you. I promise. I just want to look inside and see what's wrong. Just let me look inside, and I won't hurt you.” Dirge, subconsciously perhaps, scraped his claws along the tinted glass on Swindle's chest.

Swindle's bliss was ruined, but the fight in him was still sated. Dirge had not quite aroused his anger that he was looking to go another round; besides, he had actually been honest when he said he had liked fighting alongside Dirge. He tried smooth salesmech talk. “You know what I say, Friend, you break it you buy it.”

“Just what are you selling, Swindle?”

Now, Swindle thought Dirge sounded glitched. His faceplate quirked into a queer expression Dirge did not understand.

“You would not be trying to sell me something that is already mine, would you?”

“What are you talking about 'yours'?”

“You are mine!”

“I am not slaggin' yours!” Swindle shouted, then laughed awkwardly, “Not without some kind of deal, certainly, and I would remember that! And you still owe me from the casino, so I could collect on that debt and say you're mine!”

“Mine! I am not yours!”

“That is it, no more Mr. Nice Mech. You are so going down, Dirge!”

“Stop making that sound of looking extra sparkly! I'm taking you!”

When Vortex and Slipstream arrived, from the lower portion of the staircase, they found the two wrestling violently on the landing, in view of the security camera, and shouting at each other about who belonged to whom.

Vortex quickly pulled his rotor blades from his back and pulled one against Dirge's neck, while Slipstream grabbed Swindle by his wrists and twisted his arms behind his back. “Let him go, 'Tex,” Swindle hissed.

“It is my fight!” Dirge whispered,blade to his throat, “It is not your fight. Do not interfere.”

“It is like watching a couple of turbofoxes go at it,” Vortex laughed. “You want me to use the fire extinguisher, or can you both cool down and use your processors for a klik?”

Dirge laughed darkly at the mention of turbofoxes. “Really, Dirge,” Slipstream scolded. “What is about lying low until we can bring you in that you did not understand?” She put her pair of stasis cuffs on Swindle, and then moved to lean against the wall, where the camera was placed. Slipstream snaked a cable from within her gauntlet to the camera to intercept the feed.

“I can get out of stasis cuffs,” Swindle warned.

“With the gadgets in your front trunk space?” Slipstream asked.

“No, he-” Vortex started, but saw Swindle was already out of the cuffs.

“They are her favorite pair. I think Starscream wore them once,” Dirge whispered, still restrained by Vortex.

“Ah,” Swindle said knowingly, “How about you tell your new partner to let my friend go, and I'll return your favorite cuffs?”

“How about you both shut it or you'll be eating glue?” Vortex threatened.

“We'll let you both go when we are back at the hotel. I'll let you find out how many times Thundercracker really can use 'disgraceful' in a single sentence.”

“A lot of times,” Dirge said mournfully. And just for good measure, he'd have Skywarp stand beside him and just look haughty all through the lecture. “He's worse than Megatron.”

“You do not know what you are talking about, Dirge,” Slipstream said. She retracted her cable, satisfied she'd bought them a few kliks unobserved time and deleted what she could of their activity for the last few, as much as possible from this end. “Ask Swindle what Megatron did to mechs who were caught doing what you were doing.”

“We were just wrestling a bit, right Dirge?”

“Yes, it was just a little fight between friends.”

“Kid, I don't know everything that just happened, but you gotta know this one is glitched. Swindle is not capable of any form of commitment or faithfulness. He triggers on everything.”

“At least I can, 'Tex,” Swindle hissed.

“This is all way more than I need to know,” Slipstream said. “Vortex, give him here, you take Swindle.”

“He's going to take me,” Swindle said to Dirge.

Dirge's engines started again, vibrating with a low processor-altering frequency.

“This is crazy!” Slipstream said, “We should split-up. Keep these two apart. Maybe Starscream or Red Alert can figure what to do.”

“What's he mean 'trigger'?' Dirge asked his sister, as he was pushed toward her. “The initiation of conditional programming?”

“Yes. How many do you have actively stacked right now? Wait, I do not actually want to know. I'll let Starscream or Skywarp explain it to you. Or, maybe Ramjet.” Thundercracker would not deal with this as well, she thought; he'd never admit to how much he knew or did not know. 

When Dirge and Swindle were brought into the first of the two hotel suites their party had acquired, Ramjet and Starscream had already returned and given over their quantity of energon to Skywarp. Everyone but Sunstorm was gathered in this suite. Skywarp had moved to a seat on a bench in the central common area, while Red Alert, no longer needed on medical duty, was recharging in one of the adjacent rest chambers. Thundercracker offered that Sunstorm also was resting, in a chamber in the second suite.

“About these room arrangements-?” Slipstream began to speak. She received an incoming private comm from Starscream. She told herself she could guess what this would be about.

'Are we so companionable that we share a room? Just for purpose of rest, of course.'

'Of course.' Not that she meant to agree. 'That was just acknowledgement of your “of course”, not agreement.'

'Nor was it a refusal.'

'All right then, we can be, but don't mess with me.'

“Slipstream?” Thundercracker prompted aloud.

“Sorry. Comm. Sir, sorry, Sir, I should have been paying more attention to you.”

Thundercracker patiently waved this argument away. He could not expect everyone to be as perfect as he. Besides, he could perceive as well as the rest of the group how Starscream schemed with many different comm conversations open at any given moment. He was simply more accustomed to hiding his multi-tasking than Slipstream. “The rooms.”

“It is not for me to decide, but Dirge and Swindle were, well sort of fighting, Sir, when we found them. They might disturb everyone's peace if they are allowed to share quarters.”

“All the rights you posses should also be mine!” Dirge protested. “When Ramjet and his intended were making a lot of noise playing Jet Judo, you just said 'disgraceful' a lot, but you let them do it! And Skywarp gets to recharge right next to you all the time!”

“Oh, for spark's sake! Are you trying to tell me you and Swindle are-” Thundercracker was at loss for an appropriate term, “well, a couple?”

Starscream commed to Swindle, 'I support you in this. I will not nay say your actions, whether the result be love, casual recreation or thorough experimentation in shell-deep pleasure – Dirge is now mature enough to learn his own desires and his own lessons – but if you abuse my family's protection by acting with dubious consent I will personally do a few painful things to your person without your consent.'

“They did not let us finish our decision making process!” Dirge accused, pointing out Slipstream and Vortex. Beside him, Swindle mimed a kiss to Starscream, who stood near the window appearing not to pay the conversation any attention.

“I-” Slipstream started, Starscream was comming again. “I am not so worldly that I have been exposed to such courtship behaviour as that before, if that be what it truly was. Still, members of a group should show some decorum when in public. The individual's actions reflect on the group.”

'I am certain Dirge is still loyal to you, His Sister, but best not to coddle him. If Swindle is trouble, let Dirge realize that and learn from his mistakes.'

'And what of Dirge harming Swindle?' Slipstream replied to Starscream.

“Your Commander has a point,” Thundercracker said to the group, “We should all show some decorum when in public.” He fixed his gaze on Ramjet and then Starscream.

“I wasn't the one caught with my helm off in the back of a theater,” Ramjet snarked.

“You wish to have words outside, Brother?” Thundercracker demanded.

“What our wise leader means,” Skywarp spoke up, “is that some R&R is healthy, but anyone may be surprised about how public an environment really is, be it an emergency stairwell, or a bar, or the back or a theater, or a dance floor. Let's all consider it a lesson learned and get back to rest and plans for moving on.”

“Yes, Yes,” Thundercracker agreed, “So unless any here wish to make claim that another is in some way so diminished in capacity,” Thundercracker vocalized a small scoff as if to say everyone had diminished capacity by his calculation, “that they are unable to understand and make their own commitments, I consider this rather awkward matter over – finished. I will not dirty my claws with such trivial personal issues. Take such things up with your Morale Officer, Ramjet.”

“I'd have better morale if the title came with a pay grade increase,” Ramjet said. Thundercracker did not respond, but the laughter in the room said Ramjet had done his job. “Dirge, Swindle, do as you like...in the other suite. Thundercracker and I already called these chambers.”

“Finally, someone we can go to with our concerns to get honest advice!” Swindle mocked.

Fantastic, Slipstream thought sarcastically. Skywarp probably decided BB could use this common room to recharge, which meant she was in the other suite with Sunstorm, Dirge, Swindle, Vortex and Starscream. If she had not agreed, Starscream would probably just have secretly manipulated the others into aggravating her until she ran to his room in retreat. He was brilliant.

They probably both had real need to recharge soon, as well. But for Skywarp, Red Alert and Sunstorm, none of their group had gotten a chance to recharge since well before arrival at the station. Since then there had been well intended plans for recreation, encounters with bounty hunters, time spent fighting or evading hunters, while trying to regroup, and then various tasks in getting themselves secured in the hotel suites.

Thundercracker and Skywarp had a brief conversation with BB and Scalpel, before retiring to their room together. BB took Skywarp's former place on the largest bench and reclined to rest. Scalpel skittered away to do whatever he did when not nestling inside other mechanisms' parts. Swindle left, and after they had a short discussion with each other, in which Vortex warned that Swindle not having diminished capacity did not mean that he was not actually glitched and a mech had to stay smart to keep him an ally, Dirge and Vortex followed.

Slipstream looked to Starscream and saw he was looking at Ramjet. Ramjet looked from Starscream to Slipstream and then back to Starscream. “I'll wake her,” Ramjet said, “She won't be mad. She actually likes you. You know?”

“Old schoolmate,” Starscream whispered. Ramjet went into the rest chamber, where Red Alert had been resting. Starscream noted Slipstream's approach.

“I'm not tired,” she said.

“Neither am I.”

“You want Red Alert to fix your wing? We had replacements in the cargo. I probably could have helped you reach.”

Starscream nodded. “I did get a replacement.”

Slipstream nodded. She realized he and Ramjet had been to the cargo to get some of the energon Skywarp needed. Starscream could see her attention was on his cockpit, where the earlier collision with Cybershark had scraped away the outer layers of paint and protective coatings. “Do you you have any spare paint? The nanites are probably attempting to fix the damage to your wing.”

“Don't touch me there,” Starscream said.

“It hurts?”

“Not now.” Starscream would let her wonder over that meaning. He could give evasive answers, too. The truth was, everything Slipstream did right now seemed in some way erotic to him, and the question of why this was, or if it was to continue to be, had to be put on hold out of necessity. Starscream had been intending to speak to Red Alert, and her offer to help him with repairs was a good excuse. To go to her and allow her to lay her hands on him when helplessly aroused was just asking for new depths of awkwardness to enter their relationship.

Starscream crossed his arms, trying to hide his damage. He felt Slipstream's claw-tips on the upper part of his left arm. “Why hasn't this self-repaired yet?”

“What? It's old damage.”

“I saw it, when you were dead,” she whispered, “I thought it was from one of the times you died. Shouldn't it have healed?”

“You ever see an old-bot with a limp?”

“Not personally.”

“It's possible to get damage multiple times in the same localized area of your shell that self-repair systems will eventually stop commanding nanites into the area. It is an unfortunate result of aging in wartime that some of us accrue permanent damage.”

“But-”

“It is not placed such that it creates drag in flight, I really do not think about it.”

“I am certain most do not notice,” Red Alert interrupted. “I did agree to help you with repairs, Starscream.”

Starscream did not so much want Slipstream to leave, as he just needed her to leave for the moment. “I'm sure if you dive deep, you'll find something else to occupy your time,” he said coldly.

Slipstream fixed Starscream with a scrutinizing gaze as her fangs pressed against her lower lip plating, nearly to the point of puncture.

“Cheer up, that's an order,” Ramjet teased.

“Whatever!” Slipstream turned and walked fiercely towards the door to the hallway without the suite.

“Do you want some paint?” Red Alert asked, focused on Starscream's medical needs, “I do not have your particular shade of silver, but I'm willing to mix some grey to seal the wound until your nanites can do the work. Sometimes, after an injury, it helps to digest some solid material. I have some carbon wafers and some-”

Starscream interrupted, “I do not wish to be seen ingesting bare metal like some buddin' Imperial.”

“Manners, My Leige,” Ramjet said, sounding as sincere as Starscream would have if speaking to Megatron. It was truly annoying to be on the receiving end of his own previously-patented mixture of sarcasm and sycophancy.

“I would be grateful if you would help me with the wing. It's badly warped, better replaced than repaired.”

“A small alteration to the planes of the wings has a great impact on your flight dynamics,” Red Alert said. She seemed happy. Starscream shrugged, and followed as Red Alert went into the rest chamber, where she had stowed her medi-bot kit. Ramjet walked after Starscream, smiling to himself. He did not know whom to pity: Starscream for being the subject of Red's Seekerphilic studies, or Red Alert for being the subject of Starscream's awkward affection.

Red Alert instructed Starscream to lean against a rail in the wash area. The bedding was really too low to allow her to easily operate, and there were no seats of appropriate height. As it was, if Starscream leaned against the rail that acted as a safety device in the potentially slippery wash area and Red Alert perched on the half-wall that was partition between the wash and rest areas, she could reach his wings easily, despite their difference in size. 

Starscream browned-out into a semi-conscious state when Red Alert removed the wing. She and Ramjet were apparently joking with each other in Autobot, which Starscream had caught them doing often when reasonably alone. Red Alert could practice her already tolerable Decepticon with the rest of the group. 

“You should have seen Hot Shot's face when I suggested I had to amputate,” she said.

“Which one is he again?” Ramjet actually knew all the names, descriptions and duties of Red Alert's former teammates, and he figured she knew that he knew, but he still amused himself pretending he couldn't care to keep any Autobots' names straight.

“The one with the flamethrowers. Hot. Shot.” Red Alert mimed aiming flamethrowers with one arm and then the other. She tipped her head then and Ramjet assisted by lifting the indicated spare wing level with Starscream's exposed wing nub.

Red Alert switched languages, “Starscream, still with us? It's time to attach the new wing.”

“Just bracing for it.”

“Be careful,” Ramjet whispered, in Autobot, “The exostructure has to align precisely to the nub. Very sensitive connections. If he looses any tactile sense or an aileron control is slightly off...”

“Hush, Love,” Red Alert whispered. “I have undergone similar procedures myself and attended and performed many.” Red Alert retracted her left hand into the space of her gauntlet and extended her medi-tool. She carefully made the necessary physical connections, as she and ramjet guided the wing into place.

Once the wing was tentatively placed, Red Alert began welding the seams.

Starscream faded in and out of consciousness, disliking the concept of surgery under forced anesthesia. Yet, even his will succumbed to the shock of the removal, replacement and bonding of his wing. When he onlined again, he was lying on Ramjet and Red Alert's bed and the color was already starting to come into the new wing in the form of a pink stripe and lavender brand.

“I've stayed too long,” Starscream said as he sat.

“No,” Red Alert said, as she offered a gel-form energon goodie. “It is a normal reaction. The processor sometimes goes into stasis mode to protect itself from sensory overload as the many nodes are connected at once.”

Starscream ate the small treat. He still felt awkward sitting in their bed, though neither appeared the slightest bit annoyed. “Thank you for the assistance,” he said quietly.

“It was no trouble. You needed repair. And, we are like friends.”

“We are not friends. We never were friends. We were rivals! And I've sent many an Autobot into your tender mercies.”

“I know,” Red Alert said plainly. “I lived it, too. I believe part of the horror of war is that politics does divide friends and families across faction lines. We have a saying, 'Til All Are One'.”

“An Autobot prayer.” Starscream nearly spat.

Red Alert took a breath and then continued, softly, “Not every bot believes its meaning the same, but I believe it means there was a time, in the beginning, when we did not war across factions and that there will be a time yet to be in which the fracture is somehow healed, and we will all be one.”

“It means nothing for us!” Starscream hissed.

“We were friends,” Red Alert said, “Rivals, but friends. Maybe it makes you feel better to think we never were, maybe it eases your pain or conscience.”

“Oh, and you are so perfect and noble? Could never so delude yourself?”

“It hurt to lose friends, Starscream. But it serves nothing to deny it ever happened. Jetfire and I were truly your friends.”

“Don't-!”

“Not the yellow kid Sunstorm swears is a Seeker?” Ramjet asked.

Red Alert did not look at Ramjet, only at Starscream. He was trembling, in rage, in pain. Red Alert retracted her tool and touched Starscream with her left hand. He winced, but then allowed the contact along his left arm. Even watching Starscream, Red Alert replied to Ramjet. “Young Jetfire's namesake was a Cybertronian, just slightly older than we were, who also attended the academy. He was our good friend. A close friend. He had some personal beliefs that did not hold for war or meeting others with violence. He went out on a routine expedition and was never seen to return. The politics on Cybertron were escalating to war at that same time. There was some suspicion from within both factions that Jetfire had met with foul play on the part of those who actively sought war, rather than view it as our last resort.”

“And here I thought you had no dark past,” Ramjet said, softly, though still in his usual dark humor. “I can see the irony there. Mysterious disappearance of a conscientious objector causes the very suspicions that serve to escalate war. Wouldn't have been Shockwave; couldn't imagine that.”

“We do not know,” Red Alert whispered.

“It was really you.”

“Star-?”

“Those two. I know it was you. Him. And the blue one. I already suspected, of course. I was only captive for a short time, yet shortly afterward there were rumors of fliers in the Autobot Elite Guard. No one else could have adapted Seeker code for use so quickly, and no one else would have chose that controversial name. It can't have been their name previously. Even if it had been some ancient name in some noble line of Autobots, they would have changed it to reflect current taboos. 'Skyfire' maybe, or 'Jetblast'.”

“Yes. I worked on their code. I suggested the name. I miss him still. It is difficult, isn't it? To not even have verifiable evidence of termination? To lack proper closure?”

“Just 'difficult'?” Starscream laughed coldly.

“I wished to court him. He actually triggered my first dating protocols.”

“No one told me. Neither of you told me.”

“Well, maybe you were not completely honest with us? I told Him of my intentions. It took all my courage. I thought I might really be glitched.” Red Alert smiled, thinking of it, even as she avoided the name which affected Starscream so.

“You are glitched.”

“He politely declined. It was only shortly before he was to depart. He said he thought there was someone else for him.”

Starscream shook his head, bowed, felt a little sick. All of this held secret for so very long, like an evil growth inside him, attachment turned to grief, turned to anger, turned to hatred. “I cannot know. I can never know.” But he hoped, with all his spark he wanted to hear it had been him. He wanted to be told that he had been wanted.

“I honestly do not know who it might have been,” Red Alert said. “You had one, too? You triggered on Him, too.”

“Not only Him.”

“Red,” Ramjet broke-in respectfully, the way he usually was only with her. “When we went out together, Starscream and I happened to discuss a few things. I told him I thought you already knew, but he wanted to be formal about it. I gave him permission to speak to you.”

“What is it, Starscream?”

“I have an active courtship protocol...for you.”

“I had suspected.”

“I know you are in courtship with Ramjet, but I just needed to tell you. It has been all this time. When I see you now, my processor just responds. I think, considering everything, it would be all right to just shut it down now, but I need to know: Would it have made a difference?”

“If you had spoken your intent when we were young?”

Starscream nodded. “You were my first, before Jetfire.” he pronounced the name carefully, like it was itself a prayer. “You were beautiful, you still are, and you're brilliant. I was too proud, or maybe just cowardly. I secretly wished the three of us....”

“We were friends. True friends. That was enough for me. I would have said the same to you then. I thought you so irritating sometimes, and arrogant, but I also respected your intelligence and ability. You had a lighter sense of humor then, before the war.”

Starscream laughed; it was a little forced.

“It is all right with me if you just shut down that protocol. Let yourself have closure. It is the normal thing to shut protocols down when the outcome is certain, whether there was actual courtship had or not. Let go of Him, too.”

“Not yet.”

“I can't really imagine how that feels: to have an unspoken intention and be informed that your intended is gone. For you to hold onto all these protocols so long must pain you. I think I can start to forgive Slipstream, when I think how that same pain must have motivated her. She had unspoken intentions toward you, and she was a the very one who found your faded shell.”

“I know.”

“I was your friend a long time ago. I will be your friend now, if you let me. Please, let me feel happy that you are alive. Allowing the war and factions to taint our friendship...it was like losing two friends, when I really needed the one to cope with the loss of the other.” 

“It was not intentional. I was not.... Maybe I was not thinking clearly.”

“I can only imagine how good it must have seemed to have Megatron pursue you, and woo you in his recruitment for his cause.”

“No. Not him. Not with you.”

“All right,” Red Alert whispered. “Go to Slipstream. Even if she is only a friend or a companion you can trust, allow her to be so, because I greatly suspect she is uniquely able to understand you, Starscream.”


	24. Blame it on the Fog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If not apparent, the science fiction show Slipstream has been watching is Farscape. The episode described in this chapter is 'Meltdown' from Season 3.

Slipstream was watching Earth-made science fiction on the hotel rest chamber's small viewer. It was the same series she had caught on the viewer over the bar in the Black Hole, although another episode. Here the motley crew's fledgling gunship had been caught by some sonic siren call, referencing ancient Earth stories of female beings who purposely lured love-sick sailors to their death on rocky coastlines, with their song. Earthlings had a lot of stories about predatory females.

The poor gunship was lured close enough to a star to suffer damage, and of all the convenient plots, this released a chemical from his – the sentient gunship was male-pronouned – systems, which had mind-altering effects on the crew. It was actually pretty funny, all the little human actors and their puppets rushing around trying to resist being affected by the fog, as they tried to escape the evil of the week – here being the siren star. The former insane military commander was getting more insane and commanding. The gluttonous slug-form nobleman was more gluttonous than usual. The spacey former slave was a lot more twitchy and spacey than usual. And of course, the male and female lead characters were trying to so bravely not to fall into the jazz-accompanied urge to engage in pleasurable and possibly procreative activity.

Bad fog. Naughty fog. Definitely must get back to this, after we save ourselves from being drawn into a star.

“Sex?” Starscream asked, pronouncing the English word, as he entered the room, carry what appeared to be some of their cargo.

“Yes.”

“Not watching one of those nature videos?” He looked around the stack of crates he was carrying and saw Slipstream lounging on the bedding. She had removed the bulkiest pieces of armor and weaponry, though they all were neatly arranged and close, and lay partially draped in gold mesh.

Slipstream glanced up from her show as Starscream was setting the cargo on the small desk space about the comm terminal, near the window. His replacement wing was already up to half-color, which was a good sign the connection was correct and that there had been no rejection in bonding the nanites in the pre-fab wing to his system. Yet, there did seem something off. Slipstream could not place it, and Starscream was not actually close enough that she could read his energy signal clearly. It was more a hunch based on general sensory data.

“I do not understand why the humans think Jazz so sexy.”

Slipstream laughed. “They just like ninjas.” And, she thought, he is not quite as geeky as you.

Starscream did not respond, but made an effort to suppress laughter, his back to Slipstream. He so wished he had made that joke on purpose!

“You know they are not 'nature videos',” Slipstream said, still speaking in English.

She was uncertain whether Cybertronian culture could be said to have pornography. In a sense, they did have tantalizing data. The question was more one of applying the translation to a concept that encompassed all forms of synthetic pleasure. It would probably be more correct to say that Cybertronians had no distinction between 'porn' and 'gratification of natural drives for companionship and offspring with synthetic experiences which did not in all cases require a partner.' Slipstream gathered that on Earth, things that were felt and not only seen, were not included in the definition of 'porn', but considered a subset of 'sex'.

Not that she dwelt on their sticky organic fluid exchanges. She had just viewed a lot of daytime talk shows and teen dramas in all the spare time she had while hiding from Humans and Autobots.

Starscream walked to the raised platform, carrying just a few bottles, cubes and cylindric containers. “Ah, but if the humans watch lesser creatures engaged in breeding activity, it is for educational purposes, and not self-arousal, therefore, 'nature videos' is correct usage.” He sat on the bedding, behind Slipstream and glanced at the viewing screen. “I certainly am not in any way triggering mating protocols watching the rounded shapes of squishy fleshlings.”

Yes, Slipstream thought, that would be as ridiculous as humans being aroused by the idea of giant, alien, robotic lifeforms engaged in pleasurable and possibly procreative activity. Yet anyone who long had access to their primitive global information networks could find evidence that such arousal did exist. But, Slipstream was not prepared to discuss kink and fetish to Starscream of all mechs.

“I do suppose they are lesser beings,” Slipstream began, “but as some Autobots remind us, they are, if less advanced, at least sentient. Their ways are alien, and sometimes rather icky, but not 100% unlike ours. They can speak intentions and vows to each other. They can express fondness with tactile contact. They can love and hurt and mourn. To pretend that is untrue as some sort of rationalization for conquering a world once-ruled by organics is simply foolish. Decepticons need no rationalization. Even if the warfare seem easy, it is warfare, not pest extermination. Though, probably there are some who are actually so uneducated as to believe that. Seekers are made for conquest by air, to infiltrate, gather intelligence, strike quickly and redeploy. What are you? A warrior? Or a pest exterminator?”

“A warrior.” But, they both heard a pause. Starscream had almost said 'scientist'. Starscream shook himself of the memories still too near the surface of his thoughts. He balanced the glasses on the foam and mixed two crimson fogs. When he was finished, he pushed the empty containers aside, then passed one beverage to Slipstream.

She accepted the drink, but did not immediately imbibe any fluid. “Do we need to drink together? I am going to crash soon, anyway.”

“Are we of age? Yes. Are we operating any heavy machinery except that which is presently confined to this bed chamber? No. Is at least one of us a trained chemist who understands the effects of the fluids on Cybertronian mechology? Yes. Are we preparing to make any life-altering decisions? No. It is a fine time to drink, and I do not wish you to crash too soon.”

“You sure about that last part? The life-altering decisions?”

Starscream had made one, and the rest could wait. He was certain he had some time.

Slipstream gasped, realizing what had seemed off. Starscream actually seemed happy and at ease. He was not being overly defensive, or antagonistic or cruel in any way. He was, maybe, just maybe, actually being his self near her and not just showing her another front or deception. He did not even seem to be so manipulative as to be offering her a drink in order to pressure her to make any decision while under the influence of an overcharged state. All her senses informed her that there was no duplicity in the sharing of beverages.

Slipstream gulped down her drink and then spoke as the energon in the beverage re-energized her systems. “What in all the dark mysteries of the universe happened to you?”

Starscream smiled. He saw Slipstream twisting to look back at him; bare of helm and gauntlets. Still, there was no smirk. Well, maybe there was just a tiny iota of a smirk to his smile, but otherwise it was so frighteningly genuine.

“Is it a kind of relief?” Slipstream asked, when Starscream did not answer. He just sat calmly and sipped his drink. “You told her? Right? I only suspected, from you your extra awkward behavior.”

“Yes, Slipstream,” he said, singing her name in its Decepticon pronunciation. “I told Red Alert she had been the first to trigger my courtship protocols. I told her I had kept the intentions unspoken and protocols active all this time. And then, I shut them down.” There was no special tone for 'Red Alert', no secret indicator of affection.

“H-how many do you have left?” It was starting to arouse Starscream's curiosity that Slipstream allowed him to see the photovoltaic filaments atop her head and the bare metal of her arms at the protoform layer.

“Four, including you. I am not prepared to give up on you just yet, but it may soon be time to shut down a few others.” Slipstream knew about herself, and Megatron, and even Optimus Prime, but that left one she did not know about. She suspected it was an old one; Starscream had come from seeing Red Alert, and it was possible Red had known about this other being.

“You seem so...” Slipstream tried to think of the best word to express the observation, “like you can drop surplus cargo and just fly.” She sighed on 'fly'. Starscream thought her cute there, wings pressed to the bedding and back struts arched, as she stretched her arms overhead as if to mime a kind of flight.

“I am grateful you brought me back,” Starscream said. “I think maybe Red and I can just be friends, as we should have always been. She loves Ramjet. And I-”

“You said no life-altering decisions,” Slipstream whispered. Her low tone made Starscream's spark flare in his chest. He had not seen her remove the armor. It had already been removed, when she knew his intent to later enter the room with a promise that it was only to recharge.

Starscream took a final gulp from his glass and then set it aside. “No. That is, I understand life is short, and it is unwise to keep things unsaid, but maybe I have a little wisdom after living and dying so much. Sometimes, although it is important to communicate, we should take things in logical steps: communicate as we go, rather than attempt to say everything in one conversation.”

“I can see the value in gradual progress. Like a virus programmed with exponential growth factors: it starts out at nil, and for a long time, seems as little in rounded terms, but it grows, and then, gradually is revealed to be a vast unstoppable force.”

“Learn to navigate atmospheric thermals and wind currents before we attempt to orbit a star.” Starscream flicked a wing at the viewer.

“Yes.” It was so perfect an analogy, Slipstream thought. She could tell Starscream was in earnest; he wished for once to communicate something to her seriously and in straightforward manner, and she was, with questionable intentions, distracting him. But, she did not truly see this as a matter of fault in the sense of accepting blame. Right now, sincere and close as he was, Starscream's very spark was sending out a siren call to her. If she offlined or shuttered her optics, she saw a vision like a binary star system.

“You said we can be companions of a sort. You have earned my trust. I decided to entrust you with something more, if you will have it.”

“You want to me to run back to Cybertron and help you seduce Optimus Prime?” Slipstream teased.

“No!” Starscream continued at a whisper. “How did you pick that memory out of so many? It was brief. Just a nanoklik. I am not serious about it.”

“Oh, but he is strong, and has colors that appeal to you, and an expressive and pretty mouth that he hides behind his mask when in battle.”

“Stop!” Starscream laughed. “Stop. I was making a serious offer.”

Slipstream knew Starscream was serious, and although flattered, she knew that if she did not somehow use humor to alleviate the tension, they would be drawn into each other's orbits. “And he took down Megatron.”

“Slipstream!”

She laughed. She was not yet ready to be sucked into Starscream's orbit, nor to allow him to permanently orbit her. Not yet. But, it was as if the call screamed at her from the depths of space. It took effort to resist! “But I shot him right out of the sky! I was angry, and I thought it was you, but still, I shot Jet-Optimus out of the sky and sent him crashing into the river. So, he bested Megatron that time, but I bested him once.”

“You could destroy me,” Starscream sang to her in their native language of static, trills, tones and chirps. There were no words in English that so perfectly expressed both affection and respect for lethal capability. 

Slipstream had the vision again: two siren stars calling out to each other, screaming, drawn toward each other, brilliant, dancing, spiraling, until they found equilibrium as a binary system. He was calling her. Screaming. Her companion star. “STARSCREAM!”

Starscream cooed at Slipstream, leaning over her. “Hush. Be still. We have time.”

“Time.”

“We have time. Steps. Remember? Logical steps. And then...” Starscream could not make himself describe what happened after that. He put his claws loosely to Slipstream's arms to keep her still.

“It's not always avoiding straight answers. Sometimes it's diversionary tactics.” Slipstream wriggled a bit, testing whether she could escape. She greatly disliked being pinned down in any way.

“I understand perfectly. You have beautiful diversionary tactics.”

“Not mad?”

“No.” He truly was not angry. “Let's say it was the fog talking. It was a pleasant diversion, though I did come here with a purpose.”

“Other than recharging.”

Starscream nodded. “Yes. You are, after all, still my trusted companion. A confident, maybe, if you wish it.”

Slipstream nodded. She was still loosely pressed to the bedding, but she could sense Starscream's intent while in close proximity, and she was certain the hold was more protective than it was restrictive. “Are you sending comms to others right now? Promising them confidential information? Requesting they not disturb us?”

“No comms. Can you trust me, yet, or do you want access to monitor my systems?”

“I would love access to your systems..., but I trust you.”

“I have wanted for a long while to be trusted, but-”

“It becomes difficult to act trustworthy when those you have wished to reciprocate your trust show such disregard for all your efforts and your feelings.”

“I am not going to just change. I have ambitions. I find many other races and individuals to be my inferiors. I dislike most Autobots. I will reduce those who make themselves enemies to ashes.”

“But...,” Slipstream prompted.

“I want to correct some wrongs I have made. Brilliant that I am, of course, I can be swain by poor intel, or emotions fogging my judgement.”

“You are not alone in that.”

“I do not want to be alone.”

“No life-altering decisions, you said.”

Starscream smiled again. It was just as before, not like the Starscream that everyone thought they knew. Slipstream realized that she also knew this Starscream. She had glimpsed him before. Red Alert was not alone in being privileged to know this Starscream. Slipstream had the memory, one of her earliest ones. Earliest among those memories of Starscream's she possessed, and also earliest to be accessed. “Please,” she begged, “do not mess with me. I said don't mess with me.”

“No. I am not 'messing' with you,” Starscream confessed quietly. “I can prove it. I want to prove it. I came here to give you a memory. Not everything, but enough for you to understand why we are well-suited to help each other. It is enough for me to believe I have a chance to do things better than before. And, I have that chance due to your effort. Maybe it will be enough to convince you.”

“I will accept the memory, but you must know, we cannot work because we both wish to be pursued and yet cannot stand to be caught.”

Starscream shook his head slowly. “I am a scientist,” he said decisively, “it is my intention to debunk that theory.”

Slipstream lifted Starscream from her and sat, to demonstrate she was not in his possession. She watched as Starscream gave a nod and then pulled a cable from along his neck. Slipstream shied from him, crawling backward. The gold mesh slipped from her legs, bare of much of their armor. She could not even fully transform to her alt-mode without the tail fins. Starscream gazed at her curiously. She put herself in such a vulnerable state, and now she, the one most likely to accept any opportunity to dive a system or download data, was shying from a simple i/o cable.

“I-I just – usually I am the one that does the plugging.”

“Seriously?” This seemed a ridiculous distinction to Starscream.

“It makes me feel uncomfortable, otherwise. I do not wish others to assume I will take a receptive role just because I am femme in gender.”

“I thought you were one of the more logical ones,” Starscream said with a bit of mock disappointment. “Your own assumption that it has anything to do with your gender is more bigoted than anything about my offer.”

“If it is such a non-issue to you, then let me use my cable.”

Starscream considered this. “But I know your cables have been all over other systems. Even Autobots. Therefore, I should be able to use mine, since I know where it has been.”

“You see where the 'will not work out' theory begins to form, Science-bot?” Slipstream queried sarcastically.

Starscream, sighed, retracted his cable and turned his head so Slipstream could view the nearby port.

Slipstream was pleased, considering Starscream's surrender a small victory. She climbed up into his lap then made a show of peering at the port and then blowing it out. A bit of dust and graphite-based lubricant floated out from the port.

“Am I supposed to be offended?”

“Depends,” Slipstream answered, fangs bared in a smile.

“Done playing?”

“I am very awkward at this, aren't I?”

“At what?”

“Ask me to lead and fly a sortie. Ask me to break a system. Get data you need. I can do it to perfection.”

“I know exactly how you feel!”

“It's not that I want things to be difficult between us.”

“No. I am the geek who completely failed to take advantage of the fact that I had someone beautiful and stripped down to bare metal waiting in my rest chamber.”

“And you thought Megatron was an idiot?”

Still is, Starscream thought. “I like to think in my case it is being a gentlemech and not, as Thundercracker would say, doing something disgraceful and without suitable vows.”

“So, this memory?”

Enough foreplay. Starscream plucked Slipstream's i/o cable from its mount on her neck and plugged it into his port, which she had so politely blown clean. He initiated the transfer of his previously queued memory files. He waited for the first part of the stream to transfer to her data storage and then be accessed by her processor. He watched her optics, lit, but unmoving.

Slipstream spoke. “Jetfire.” There was a slight hint of song in the tones of his name.

In the adjacent common area, Sunstorm sat awake near the wide window that looked out toward side 5, reading an ancient religious text. It had been part of the offered price for surrendering his rest chamber to Dirge and Swindle. The more he read, the more Sunstorm realized the codex was a steal. Dirge must have been quite distracted by his greedy plans for Swindle to not realize what he was giving away. Sunstorm knew their youngest brother did value all forms of knowledge. This codex appeared to be an authentic copy of the Covenant of Primus. Dirge's hastily recital of its provenance indicated that the codex had been in Megatron's possession and come to Dirge when he cleaned out Trypticon Maximum Security Detention Facility of its stored prisoners' effects.

Sunstorm did have enough critical thinking skills not to immediately believe everything he read, but the codex was still fascinating as a record of what many Cybertronians believed. It was also rather interesting to him that Megatron had kept the codex on his person. The designation 'Megatron' was mentioned in a number of verses in the writ. Perhaps Megatron had been trying to orchestrate his plans to match his interpretation of scripture, and thus cement his identity as 'the' Megatron of the text. Maybe that leader's real designation was not even Megatron. He might have just adopted the powerful designation for his political career or in favor of a lost or disliked designation.

Sunstorm saw the power of religion to sway masses. He could also see the fierce allure of faith: that it offered assurance, guidance, and might even be used as rationalization for all actions claimed to be done in the will of a god. Even seeing the lure, Sunstorm was not himself swain to faith. For one, he did not, as a Decepticon, see the need for a divine big brother to set him on a predetermined path in life. That was the way of current Autobot politics. And, if he were quick to believe, he might interpret certain passages to be portents of his own future actions, or even as personal commandments from a divine being. But thinking critically, the scriptures might as easily refer to some mad Cybertronian painter, or even some mech yet to be sparked.

Still, it was a fascinating codex, and Sunstorm could see how the archaic text had a certain and powerful cadence that like an inspirational political speech could rally or sway masses to action. Sunstorm determined that this codex was going to be his guide, though perhaps not in the way most would think. And if Dirge or anyone else asked, he would simply insist that Primus willed him to keep the codex in his keeping and he therefore could not surrender it at any price.

The codex also served the function of providing an excellent object of concentration when one's brothers, sister and other acquaintances were screaming and making other distracting noises within their adjacent rest chambers. Sunstorm did not know how Vortex could remain recharging in stasis mode through it all, but that static snore did make it sound like he was recharging.

“By all the Godmasters,” Swindle swore, in the adjacent rest chamber, and rather creatively. “That was amazing!” He paused, realizing that although he said the words by rote, he actually had found the experience literally amazing. Dirge still surprised him in a lot of ways. “Now, get out. I need to recharge.”

“It is my rest chamber, and thus by extension my bed,” Dirge stated plainly. He sat on the bedding, upright and alert, while Swindle was sprawled and not even daring to look toward him. “I bartered it from Sunstorm fairly.” And he had wanted to keep that codex, it had seemed it might be rare as old things sometimes were. He'd been forced to choose between a possession and gaining a new experience. Swindle should show more gratitude than giving him some obviously well-practiced line.

“But you still owe me for the loan of the casino tokens,” Swindle slurred. Dirge knew well enough that Swindle's real voice had that sort of static drawl. The additional slur indicated he was actually in need of recharge. 

“And I have casino tokens enough to pay you back with interest. You are welcome to collect. I simply was unable to exchange for currency. There was the little matter of a riot, you see.”

“My Friend, let's say we split the bed 60-40?”

“Yes, 60 for me, and 40 for you, out of my generosity. My wings need more room than your parts.”

Swindle grumbled. “Deal,” he said finally, “but I really do need to recharge, so could you give me space.”

“I am not even touching you, now,” Dirge said. He was a little irritated, but he could not quite process the why of it. Admittedly, he had a lot to process right now. “Have I done something without consent? Or been mistaken about something that should be understood as customary?” He asked.

“No, Dirge,” Swindle said. He pushed himself up from the bedding and turned his head just enough to regard Dirge in the periphery of his vision. “We just did an effin' lot of intimate slag, and it really was great. You really are a natural. But....”

“But?”

“But, we did everything – and I mean we pretty much did everything there is to do, but those few things we discussed and which I am just not prepared to consent to – plus some things I never thought anyone else would want to try, but, I'm a little scuffed-up, sore, and I smell like burning rubber and ozone, not that I would trade a nanoklik of it....”

“But?”

“Well, we've gotta stop sometime.”

Dirge thought about this. It was his tendency to continue to want more, and more, and then even more, but he was not really as incapable of compassion or generosity or even kindness as he was starting to suspect others believed him. He was beginning to understand that he actually did frighten some, and not only when he ran his engines. Did they not see how he grasped concepts such as earning or gaining consent? Did they not see how his intelligence tempered his greed?

“I stopped.”

Swindle sighed. “Listen, Kid, I like ya, I do, but just you sitting there brooding and expectantly kinda freaks me out. I'm not used to this.”

“What are you accustomed to?”

“Well, for one, being able to either kick someone out of my quarters or sneak out as soon as a partner goes into recharge.”

“Yes. You told me you had no strings on you.” It had been a clever reference to his favorite recharge tale, Dirge thought. “I am sorry if you thought 'I'll bring a spool of wire next time' was inappropriate.”

Frag it if the spool of wire did not excite Swindle, but he really couldn't. He just couldn't take any more right now. The kid could crack his engine block, he was so insatiable. “I just find 'next time' a little unnerving,” Swindle admitted.

“I see.” Dirge considered this for a while. “Well, you were clear about your intentions. I do comprehend the concepts of casual recreation and the metaphor of strings as attachment. Since it does not comfort you to hear I might have interest in a next time, would you accept me saying that I am truly glad to have had someone so skilled and experienced as my first?”

Swindle felt tired, but like some vital part was melting inside him. It was strange: like a sensation that was both pleasant and frightening. He supposed one reason he really did like this kid a lot was because Dirge had such a novel way of viewing ownership and possession. Dirge wasn't concerned that he'd lost anything, like his ability to share his first time with anyone else, ever again. He seemed genuinely happy to claim possession of Swindle as his first. Swindle even had a suspicion that next time, when Dirge was with some other partner, he'd still find a way to make it sound special to them. “My first time with You,” he would probably say, or, “But it is Our first time.” 

“I'm still not prepared to make any binding agreement,” Swindle said, “but maybe we could say there's a possibility for renegotiation in the future.”

“That seems fair,” Dirge agreed. “Maybe I could try having other partners, like you.”

“Slag, Kid, with your Seeker squad officer status, good looks, and talents, you could literally have your pick once we hit New Kaon.”

Suddenly, going to a Decepticon refugee colony in the outer rim seemed a brilliant idea to Dirge. He grinned at the thought.

“Just stay safe, will ya? Don't give your spark away until you know you are getting the best deal of your life, whoever they may be.”

“I accept your advice. Best not to show all one's assets when negotiating. You have truly been a good teacher, Swindle. And, you'll always be my first.”

“You're pretty special, too,” Swindle admitted. “just be forewarned, not every mech or femme has the same tastes. Some of them like high class stuff, like high grade energon; or sentimental crafts, like examples of manual nanobot programming.”

“And just think of how my negotiating position with you improves, after I learn all I can from them.”

That had to be the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to Swindle. Dirge heard the cha-ching as Swindle imagined the future negotiating process.


	25. The Cyber Ferry Moans

It proved more difficult a process that any had imagined to get the team into some semblance of order the next they onlined. Ramjet and Red Alert were first to come from their chamber, and did immediately notice any trouble. They had kissed each other once before falling in stasis, recharged near each other peacefully, kissed each other once upon coming back online, and then taken separate turns in the wash area. When they came from the chamber in search of a bit of fuel, they found BB still recharging on the large bench. Red Alert then noticed Scalpel chirping excitedly and splashing in the kitchenette's small sink. Even as they approached, Ramjet and Red Alert could hear shouting from the adjacent chamber, which had been assigned to Thundercracker and Skywarp.

Ramjet could not recall Thundercracker and Skywarp every fighting with each other. Thundercracker used to bellow and tell everyone, including Skywarp, how inferior they were, but he had mellowed. Just as Ramjet no longer lied to everyone or all the time, Thundercracker had seemed able to temper his ego in such a way that his pride in himself now extended to his siblings and subordinates. He had for a long while show Skywarp considerable favoritism, so it made little sense he would be putting him down now. And for that matter, it made little sense that Skywarp would be fighting back, even if he had made great strides in resisting his cowardly instincts.

Red Alert was similarly surprised that the General and his Executive Officer would be arguing. For one, Red Alert had noticed the silent exchanges that had the appearance of comm conversation that preceded any spoken statement that sounded like compromise. They simply did not question each other in public.

“Does he recharge in water?” Ramjet asked, curious about the tiny doctor's crustacean-like root mode.

“I wash,” Scalpel chirped at them, he seemed then to address Red Alert as he climbed from the sink and projected a graph. Whatever the graph tracked had steadily increased in level and lately spiked to a steep incline. “Proper washing removes latent chemical trace.”

“It makes complete sense to me because I accessed all the slaggin' science memories!”

“Dormitory Effect,” Red Alert said seriously, “Cyber-pheromone levels are spiking dangerously.”

“Cyber-pheromones are like some kind of odorless Cybertronian-produced molecular compound related to attraction, right?”

“No science memories?” Red teased.

“Between his memories and your medi-babble, I picked-up a few things. I still don't get the 'dangerously' part or what dormitories have to do with anything. Shouldn't we all just be extra interested in courtship.”

“Canned air,” Scalpel explained.

“Courtship, yes, but at these levels, it's more likely to see violent territorial posturing, nesting, or even breeding.”

Ramjet took a step back, “With the sparks?” He made a hand gesture indicating what the sparks would do. “Conceiving newsparks?” he whispered.

Red Alert stared at Ramjet a long millicycle, “He did not know that before,” she informed Scalpel. “Ramjet, you've triggered enough conditional programming to know that?”

“What?”

Red Alert nervously made the hand gesture.

“I must have.” Ramjet paused and then, “You recognized it. Was that just medi-bot training?”

“We are all affected!” Red Alert whispered. Her siren sounded reflexively: woo woo. She tried to shut it off. Woo woo woo.

“Stop panicking!” Ramjet panicked, “Can't you just take one of those breaths?”

“The concentration of Cyber-pheromones in this air is prohibitive. I would only increase their effect on my processor.” Woo woo.

“Think about something else,” Scalpel suggested.

“BB, come in here,” Thundercracker called from the doorway to his chamber.

“Roger.”

“BB, you do not have to come in!” Skywarp called from the same doorway.

“BB is willing to do it. He acknowledged!” Thundercracker argued.

“BB, Thundercracker was not giving that order as your military commander, so you do not have to acknowledge. He was only speaking as some mech who happens to be a suite-mate. Do not come in.”

“Roger.”

The door slammed shut and Thundercracker and Skywarp's muffled arguing could be heard again.

“This is Dormitory Effect,” Red Alert whispered, “It is often first observed in academy housing in which many younglings coming of age are living in close quarters. Those who are the most mature will start to trigger their conditional programming that signifies readiness to court, or even mate. Their bodies naturally produce the Cyber-pheromones to signal potential mates. But, in close quarters, this sometimes has the side effect of increasing overall concentration of the Cyber-pheromones to the point there is saturation at which conditional programming of the less mature residents is triggered simply by the exposure to high Cyber-pheromone levels. In a full-fledged case of Dormitory Effect, all residents will soon exhibit equal levels of conditional programming and maturity. The entire population will then view each other as potential mates or rivals and begin to act out the process of courting, claiming intended mates, nesting and breeding.”

“But all of that sounds like what all of us have been doing already. And does that mean everything between us is somehow artificial because I met you when confined in a prison?”

“Everything we have experienced is entirely real. The reactions are our own natural reactions. It is only, potentially, the timing, and certain extremes of behavior that can be effected. For example, a young mech in a dorm beating his best friend because he now views him as a rival for a mate. The Cyber-pheromones cannot make you want to do something you would never do, but they can make your actions and reactions the extreme of what you might do. So, effectively removing much inhibition that is normally a good thing to have.”

“All of us, meaning the other suite, too?”

“Swindle has been burning rubber,” Scalpel said.

Red Alert tsked a cluster of sensory nodes against the interior of her mouth. “Ground-based models often release their Cyber-pheromones in such a manner as to leave a trail where they drive. It is part of what makes the race track environment so heady. If Swindle was spinning his wheels, he might be one of us who is actively producing Cyber-pheromones. However, it is an entirely involuntary and subconscious action, so he would not know he was doing it.”

“And Seekers?” Ramjet asked.

“Evolved to signal mates in atmosphere,” Scalpel said.

Even Ramjet could grasp the science of why that was bad. Signaling a mate in the air with a chemical trail that would be quickly dispersed and diffused meant the initial release had to be highly concentrated in order to be effective. That same concentrate would be ridiculously overwhelming in close quarters: in a dorm, a space station, a starship, a small colony. “So, Seekers are literally hyper-attractive?” Ramjet could not help but feel rather smug about this revelation. “But, then-?” He paused, trying to think of an answer for himself, “How do the Decepticons stand to have Starscream or other Seekers and flight-models with them on missions requiring long-distance space travel?”

“I imagine they do anything they can to not to encourage his arousal, provide access to wash facilities, possibly confine him to personal quarters, and frequently send him planetside. That is part of normal Seeker operating method, is it not? To be advanced scouts to a new planet and operate in the air much of the time.”

“Do you think Megatron knew?”

Red Alert only had suspicions. She looked to Scalpel.

“All Decepticon leaders with flight-models and air warriors must know. Effects obvious. Whole ship would be making the newsparks if not controlled. Too many mouths to feed. Too few active soldiers.”

“Controlled?” Ramjet asked angrily, “How do you just tell every flier in the entire Decepticon army not to get aroused or respond to each other, or take care of their sparklings?”

“You sacrifice a few of the little ones,” Scalpel said plainly, “then, they not in the mood anymore.”

“Did you kill some?” Ramjet demanded, grasping for the tiny doctor.

“No. No. Not programmed to consider expendable! Only in great emergency one can donate parts for another to live. Not expendable!” Scalpel jumped back into the sink and crouched down, only optics, spectacles and antennae visible above the surface.

Red Alert took a disposable cloth from the kitchenette and wet it at the sink. She passed this to Ramjet and gestured for him to clean his face. The Cyber-pheromones were odorless, but reached the processor via the olfactory sense receptors. Washing their faces was a stop-gap measure at best. “What should we do?” Red Alert asked.

“I just got promoted yesterday, and it's still a toss-up whether Sunstorm or I is last in the chain of command. You can't expect me to solve this problem?”

Red Alert looked first to Scalpel. Scalpel looked at Ramjet though his spectacles. As suspected, his rank characteristic was fluctuating. Scalpel's own rank was fairly high among Decepticons in general, due to the respect he was paid as one of their few medical experts, but this did not stop every General and Special Teams Leader from attempting to recruit him as a subordinate and make him do their bidding. “Is saying,” Scalpel said, “If Decepticon says he is leader, and no other in hearing objects, Decepticon is leader.”

“Vortex told us something like that, once.” Ramjet considered the situation. He really did not grasp the science quite as much as the others. He was more like Thundercracker, he supposed, in focusing on flying, fighting and strategy, although strategy meant different things to each, Ramjet guessed. But, he did have two medical experts willing to follow his command, at least for now.

Ramjet straightened. “Red and I have to stay together. It may seem risky, given what you have been saying, but otherwise we risk me going territorial on some mech. Scalpel, if you will, go back to the other suite and determine if anyone there is unaffected enough to give assistance. And, determine also, if you are able, if any specific individual is actively producing the Cyber-pheromones, and if as result anyone seems in actual danger as a result.”

“Unaffected, producing, at risk,” Scalpel recited. Red Alert lifted him from the sink and helped him quickly to the floor. Scalpel gave a salute with one claw and then skittered away. 

“What do you want me to do?” Red Alert asked.

“For a start, don't ask me such loaded questions. We've got to try to get Thundercracker and Skywarp to see reason, without deciding we are a threat.”

Scalpel let himself into the other suite and found Vortex and Sunstorm were both online and alert in the common area. Scalpel sampled the air as he moved across the floor. The concentration was high here, but seeping into the room in even higher concentrations from each adjacent rest chamber.

“Any symptoms?” Scalpel asked Vortex.

Vortex looked down at Scalpel. He did not very often travel without a larger mech. “Symptoms of what, exactly, Doctor?”

“Use rotors to draw air out into hallway.”

Vortex cackled a laugh. “You want me to use my beautifully lethal blades to make like a fan?”

“I outrank you,” Scalpel said.

Vortex trained his optics on the tiny crab-like mech. “Well, if I challenge you, Skywarp will just pop over here and shoot me I the back, right?” Vortex saw Scalpel did not answer, but crossed his smaller forelimbs across his chest to signal he was waiting. “At least tell me what is going on.”

“You know what this means: Dormitory Effect?”

Vortex cackled loudly. He stood, preparing to go to the door. “Oh, I should have seen it. So, the kids received a visit from the Cyber Ferry and now all they do is moan?”

“Yes. Cyber Ferry.” Scalpel knew this was the common youngling jargon for the state of being affected by Cyber-pheromones. At the academy, for example, the students might tease each other saying that a Ferrymech, Cyber Ferry or a Fairy was going to visit. They mechanified this concept as a being like a doomy Ferrymech who transformed into a ferry to transport younglings to another, new world. Sometimes they said the Ferrymech replaced friends with dopplegangers and changelings from beyond. Other times, a femme version was described as a fairy-like alien who could make mechanisms go mad with desire. 

“I think Sunny here needs some fresh air. He looked like he had some bad memory loop or recharge images, and now he is just mumbling to himself about sins of the shell.”

“Concur,” Scalpel said. “Symptoms Consistent.” He went to the room to the left, where he believed Dirge to be. He pinged a signal to the door and it opened to him. The interior was dim, but Scalpel had sensors enough to clearly determine what Dirge and Swindle were doing. They were clearly affected. Each was producing their own Cyber-pheromones in aroused response to the other's hyper-attractive state.

“You, The Turbofox,” Scalpel called, “You know what Cyber-pheromones are? Put the kid in a cold shower.”

“I will kill you, Cogcricket!” Dirge threatened, “Swindle is mine.”

Dirge was most definitely impaired in his judgement, threatening to kill Scalpel. Swindle might not have full use of his faculties, either; he was actually asking to be taken and saying “I'm Yours.”

“Sunstorm!” Scalpel called. “Burn-off. Use your flare to burn-off excess Cyber-pheromones around you. Make these two get to wash facility.”

Sunstorm did not really know what Scalpel was talking about, but he had been feeling something was off, and he had seen Vortex accept an order. Sunstorm released his energy in a brief flare about his body. He did not immediately feel different. But then, when he tried to approach Dirge's rest chamber, he was consciously aware of a change. It was like an invisible wall or veil existed there and moving into it mad him suddenly agreeable, giddy and something else he was not certain how to define.

Scalpel staggered away. “I wash,” he said. Dirge's chamber was too much for his small body. There was no way he could open Starscream's door without himself deciding to make a claim on Teacher's Pet. Scalpel climbed up to the sink in this suite. The fact that Starscream had megacycles of pent-up emotion and desire had never boded well for any of their team long avoiding the risk of Dormitory Effect, not with so many of his own young clones in said team.

But, Scalpel thought, in a way, this was good for Decepticons. It meant there was potential still to inspire Decepticons of appropriate maturity and compatibility to form brood pairs or trines. And if New Kaon were truly as safe a haven as many said, then there was a chance for newsparks to be conceived and infused into protoforms. Not every mech knew how to cultivate protoforms, but one with expertise in chemistry and molecular-mechology was certainly up to the task, which was why it was a very good thing they did have Starscream.

Scalpel could hear Dirge raging at Sunstorm from the far rest chamber. “You have no right!” Dirge shouted. “I can have someone, too! I can have! Swindle said he wanted more. He said it! He wants me!”

“I would never question your significant amorous prowess, Little Brother, but poor Swindle is obviously exhausted; your effluent charm has simply overwhelmed him to the point of mindlessness.”

Dirge laughed loudly. “That's right, I drove him out of his slaggin' mind! That is just how much talent I possess. I am hyper – get off me! I don't need a shower!” Sunstorm came out of the rest chamber with Swindle trailing sheepishly behind. Scalpel skittered quickly from the kitchenette to meet them near the door.

Vortex could not resist the opportunity to tease. “Walk of Shame again, My Friend? Rough night?”

“Slag off.”

Scalpel directed the others to continue across the hall to the other suite. They left the doors to both suites open to allow for circulation. They found Red Alert had made some progress with Thundercracker and Skywarp. Thundercracker could still be heard ranting about something, but Skywarp seemed a little calmer and stood in the open doorway to his rest chamber, speaking to Red Alert.

“I suppose that makes a little sense. I onlined first and went to wash and it only seemed to me that Thundercracker was acting a little unusual after I sat down and let him polish my wings.” Skywarp lowered his voice further before he continued, “It is hard to reach the back part, and sometimes I do the same for him.”

“Now that we understand what we are dealing with, we should be able to manage it. It would be helpful to understand what particular symptoms or stage Thundercracker is experiencing. Do you know?”

“Well, he's been ranting for a couple of cycles now about how unworthy the room is for any sparklings of his. He even tried to get BB to come in and help move furniture.”

“One of you is not-?” Red Alert whispered.

“No, no, no!” Skywarp responded, making a twitchy gesture with his claws as if to push the subject from him and shaking his head for good measure. “I did not let that happen, like you said.”

Red Alert felt relieved. She hoped they did not have to deal with newsparks just yet. She glanced at the others who had recently entered, as did Skywarp.

“Dirge is in the shower,” Sunstorm reported, “Can Swindle use on of your wash areas?”

“W-what about Starscream? And Slipstream?” Ramjet asked. He felt a little uncomfortable that Sunstorm was reporting to him. His call-sign was 5 and Sunstorm's 6, but Thundercracker had trusted Sunstorm with their treasury before he had assigned Ramjet with any function. Ramjet usually assumed everyone considered him lower in rank. Even Dirge, who was younger, had been with the outfit longer and was somehow their Chief Science Officer.

“Seeing as how in his wisdom even Scalpel did not go in that chamber....” Sunstorm wheedled.

“They could have fifteen newsparks by now!” Ramjet said under his breath.

“That is not actually, possible, is it?” Skywarp whispered to Red Alert.

She shook her head. “Two at most, or maybe three or four if they had split-sparks, but twins are very rare.” Red Alert realized what she was saying, “Not that I am saying anyone is having any newsparks at all. Maybe they are just having a long discussion.”

“Maybe they are only holding hands,” Ramjet suggested, “that would just be swell.”

“Not that I wish to envision what our Liege and beloved sister are doing together,” Sunstorm said, “but it sounded like all they did was watch Earth shows on the hotel viewer and talk in English.”

Skywarp gave Red Alert a tap on her arm with one of his claws, to get her attention. Red Alert was unprepared and gave a startled jump. Ramjet saw the movement and the null ray on his right arm whined in power-up. “W-we were just talking,” Skywarp said defensively.

Thundercracker stepped up into the doorway, just behind Skywarp, with one of his pair of swords drawn. “Do not forget who your superiors are in this chain-of-command, Ramjet,” Thundercracker said imperiously. 

“Don't you forget who is supposed to be showing us all his leadership skills!” Ramjet challenged, “Sir!”

“Doctor!” Thundercracker called. Red Alert and Scalpel both gave their attention. “I put myself on medical leave. Ramjet is in command, unless Slipstream or Dirge present themselves with appropriate decorum.”

“What about Skywarp?” Ramjet asked. He saw Thundercracker was already retreating into his rest chamber.

“I am sure he means I am on an assignment, but it is need-to-know, and you do not need to know,” Skywarp said. “Thundercracker would like you to come in and advise him in a medical capacity,” Skywarp said to Red Alert, having a comm from Thundercracker.

Red Alert looked back to Ramjet. “We will keep the door open.”

Ramjet gave a nod of approval. He then looked to the assembled group. BB was seated on a bench. Scalpel looked just about ready to crawl up Ramjet's leg. Sunstorm was expectantly looking at Ramjet for an order. Vortex was near the door, spinning his rotor blades. Swindle was slouched against the wall near the outer door, looking embarrassed and pretty badly scuffed like he'd been in a few fights in the last dekacycle.

“Swindle, you look like slag, go use the wash area in my room and get some real recharge.”

“Honesty is not really that attractive on you,” Swindle said, attempting meanness, but just sounding tired.

“So,” Ramjet said, “Sunstorm, you can be my second-in-command for now, so your duty is to tell me when I give a ridiculous order or do something really illogical or incompetent.”

“Noted,” Sunstorm replied.

“Scalpel, you can just perch up here on my shoulder so I look like a real Decepticon leader.”

Scalpel climbed up.

“Uncle V, keep-up the good work. If you do not mind, maybe you could look around for any environmental controls, or fans, or the like.”

“Understood.”

“BB,” Ramjet called, “Do you think you could try very hard for us to say 'no'?”

“BB does not want to talk because he's had a hard time in prison and he's lost someone, an escort jet he had at least a service-level bond with,” Sunstorm explained.

“I take your information under advisement, Sunstorm.” Ramjet said, “BB, I request that you make the effort. You don't actually have to say 'no', you could use another language, or indicate 'negative'. It would really help all of us, if you would try.”

“Roger.”

Ramjet shrugged. Curse Thundercracker for leaving him in command!

“I am not fit to lead like this,” Thundercracker confessed to Red Alert at a whisper.

“You seem conscious of the fact that you are affected,” Red Alert advised, “That is actually a good sign. It means you are still quite lucid and in possession of your faculties.”

“But this Dormitory Effect and Cyber-Pheromones? You are saying that we have all been chemically unbalanced and it has recently escalated to a dangerous level.”

“Yes, but the main problem is being in this canned air. The Pheromones themselves are entirely natural and also very common in your stage of maturity, in most of our stages. It is the enclosed environments that have been making the levels high enough to cause beginnings of extreme behavior and loss of inhibitions. Now we know what we are dealing with.”

“And, knowing is half the battle,” Skywarp said, who was sitting on the bedding, playing chess with Stormshadow on a holomatter board.

Thundercracker and Stormshadow both nodded.

“Washing more frequently, ventilating chambers as much as possible, and rotating members of the team out of any duty in close quarters should help a lot. If we reach a planet with atmosphere, we will not even have a problem.”

Thundercracker looked to the door again, then Skywarp. He returned his attention to Red Alert. “I cannot concentrate on important matters of leadership with these compulsions.”

“About the furniture?” Red Alert asked, doing her best to remain professional.

“I am well aware, Doctor, that this is a hotel and by no means a permanent residence. Also, I am, of course, aware that I do not at this time have any offspring, at all, nor have I engaged in any activity that would bring about such offspring, or even given definite consent to do so in the future. Yet, my usual cool and superior intellect is plagued by this incessant compulsion that I must seek or create a suitably safe, nurturing and intellectually stimulating environment for these theoretical sparklings I do not have!”

“Nesting instinct. Your particular reaction to the Cyber-pheromone saturation is what is known as nesting instinct. I cannot speak from experience, but from my study, I understand it is fairly normal for the nesting to take place before the actual conception of offspring. We might say it is a means of dealing with any anxieties-”

“I do not have anxieties! Skywarp has anxieties. Lots of them. I help him face his anxieties!”

“You understand I am speaking to you in full confidence?” Red Alert asked. “You requested medical advice.”

“Go on,” Thundercracker agreed with irritation.

“If you, or some other person in the same hypothetical situation, who did have anxieties, had any concerns about conceiving offspring in the future, then nesting now might, hypothetically, be a means to create a secure environment, not only in which to raise hypothetical, future offspring, but in which you, or this other hypothetical person, can feel comfortable enough yourself to engage in breeding activity without fear of any interference or other cause of anxiety.”

“The timing then, hypothetically, would be very normal?” Thundercracker asked.

“Yes, as far as I understand from my medi-bot studies. Some mechs or femmes, even if they have found a partner or bondmate or consort that they love, and do wish for offspring, cannot make themselves breed successfully until they feel secure. Especially, with our race being involved in war...you understand?”

“Do you know?” Thundercracker asked.

“Know? Know what?”

“Do. You. Know?” Thundercracker enunciated.

Red Alert gave a nod. “That the Decepticons are losing the war and right now cannot even sustain their number? That your faction loses more to warfare than you gain in newsparks?”

“So, even you know.”

“Truthfully, some Autobots may know, but I only really considered it a few cycles ago, when Scalpel alerted us to the Dormitory Effect. Ramjet asked Scalpel something about it, and I recall Scalpel said all Decepticon leaders who have fliers must know.”

“I do not follow. You must have left out some vital point.”

Skywarp shut down his avatar and game, stood and called to Ramjet. Ramjet then stepped into the room, but remained at attention near the door. Scalpel was perched on his left shoulder. “Tell Thundercracker what you know about the Dormitory Effect, Decepticon offspring dying through starvation or purposeful sacrifice and any related information,” Skywarp commanded.

Ramjet and Scalpel obediently repeated what they could recall of their earlier conversation with Red Alert, explaining how some may have seen Dormitory Effect on ships with many fliers as part of the cause for a perceived overabundance in newsparks, which was in turn a drain on dwindling resources. Scalpel explained his opinion that Decepticon leaders had chosen to willingly sacrifice some offspring in order to dissuade over-breeding.

“We had not made that part of the connection before,” Thundercracker revealed to the others. “Skywarp and I already accessed the part of Starscream's memory in which he and a few others tried to nurture the last few sparklings. The situation obviously has become so desperate that most Decepticons do not even attempt breeding activity, perhaps knowing resources are still low, or that they may be targeted by leadership for disregarding now-outdated rules.”

Scalpel then spoke up and said that there was hope. Thundercracker's team included seven seekers that now all seemed mature enough to breed, if they so chose. Six were clones, he said, but by choosing partners with compatible but differing codes, they could avoid degradation.

“But, we need protoforms, don't we?” Skywarp asked. “Starscream used a number of those Megatron and Lockdown had secured from the Autobots, to make us. Some went into other clones Starscream or Megatron made, and which got blown-up.”

“Team Optimus recovered just three from Luna,” Red Alert said.

“We only need an expert in chemistry and molecular-mechology to cultivate the protoforms,” Scalpel said.

“But that is exactly what Starscream studied!” Red Alert said.

“You mean Starscream has known how to make protoforms all this time?” Thundercracker demanded, “Why would Megatron need to steal them from the Autobots? Why would Starscream not make some for the Decepticons?”

“Because Starscream would not necessarily want Megatron to know, after all that happened,” Skywarp suggested.

“Have any of you accessed a memory in which Starscream actually made protoforms?” Ramjet asked, “We do not even know that he actually knows how to do it.”

“He definitely tended ones the Decepticons had in the past,” Skywarp insisted, “so he was at least competent to maintain ones that were made, as they were being cultivated. And he made us, so he clearly understands how the infusion process works. Even if he never made any, he has the skills to do so. Maybe he just needs some resources and a lab.”

“I knew we were going to do something grand!” Thundercracker said. “I told you, did I not?”

“Yes, Sir, I never doubted it!” Skywarp agreed.

“Wait, what is this grand thing we are going to do?” Ramjet asked.

“Well, first, we are going to protect our skilled and valuable political leader, Starscream Liege Null,” Thundercracker said, “and then we are going to learn everything we can from the other Decepticons, everything that will be useful to our future.”

“And recruit?” Skywarp asked.

“Only the best, only those most willing and understanding of our cause.”

“Make love not war?” Ramjet asked snarkily.

“Oh, we will have war!” Thundercracker bellowed, “With any pathetic lifeform that challenges our own right to exist and prosper!”

“And have you thought where you and your future will prosper?” Red Alert asked.

“Of course,” Thundercracker replied, “Team Luna already has a home, we need only go back there.”

“The humans?” Red Alert asked nervously.

“I will leave it to Starscream to decide how to deal with them, but there are many planets and satellites they do not even use, including some real estate on Titan that was recently vacated.”


	26. Ghost in the Shell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Starscream is Emo and Reveals a Dark Past. With self-mutilation and dismemberment, yay!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Furmanism. Wow, I was into these for a while.
> 
> Homage title, natch.
> 
> Did I mention the kiss/taste indicating compatibility concept is a rip-off from a Farscape episode. That one where Crichton is some nigh compatible mate to some space princess, but there's a catch.

Starscream onlined from his stasis. He immediately knew something was off. All the systems he accessed upon coming online told him that 'Starscream' was the mech leaning against him, suggesting that he could not also be Starscream. A visual confirmed it: Starscream was sitting in his own lap, looking at his own body. A further system check informed him that the shell he was now controlling was designated Slipstream.

Starscream was aware of having recharged in an upright position; he and Slipstream had leaned toward each other in their stasis such as to support each other's weight. There was an i/o cable still connecting their bodies. Starscream clearly recalled initiating the transfer of queued memory files. They must have both fallen into stasis mode while still connected. Starscream felt certain his own spark was still secure in its chamber, within his shell; it seemed that his consciousness only, his ghost, had transferred to Slipstream's shell. He supposed this likely meant that Slipstream's ghost was now recharging inside his shell.

This was rather unprecedented, so far as Starscream knew. Two ghosts transferring into each other's shells, as if into their remote avatars. If he unplugged the i/o cable would they be stuck this way, each ghost somehow living with the other's spark and shell? It was a metaphysical question Starscream did not begin to know how to answer.

However it had happened, the opportunities for abuse and amusement were obviously great. Could he do whatever he wanted to Slipstream's shell? He mentally investigated a few systems. He seemed to have full control. Was he actually thinking with her processor? This truly was strange. He tried moving his right arm, and Slipstream's bare right arm lifted. He could see the movement with Slipstream's optics.

He tried speaking. “Time to online, Trix,” he said, still surprised to hear Slipstream's voice, although he had suspected he might.

“Don't call me Trix,” Slipstream murmured, with Starscream's voice. “What the slag?”

Starscream saw his own optics light. He might actually be even more handsome than he thought, if that was possible. “Now this is narcissism,” he said, still in Slipstream's femme voice.

“What in the pit did you do to us?” Slipstream demanded shrilly.

“Much as I love the melodious sound of my own voice,” so long as his clones were not using it, “You do not have to be quite so shrill. I am right here, in your lap..or my lap, anyway.”

“It is horrible how you sound like me.”

“Here's one: Well look who joined the party.”

“Vengeance will be mine, Megatron!” Slipstream declared in Starscream's customary high-pitched cry.

“Oh, that's creative,” Starscream said in Slipstream's unimpressed, nagging tone.

“So, which part of me did you come from, Trix?” Slipstream said in an extra-suggestive Starscream tone.

“I never said 'Trix' that time.” 

“You just say it now.”

“It is a sincere term of endearment,” Starscream insisted. “If you must, check my recent memory while you are over there.”

“I do not know if I can transfer them back over to my shell without your cooperation. This is not exactly like diving. I am somehow fully present here, even though that's my shell and my spark over there with you.”

“I had supposed we just floated across while in recharge,” Starscream said, “It was certainly not intentional on my part!”

“Nor mine!”

Starscream sighed, “Well what are we going to do, now? I half expected with all of your diving you would know what to do.” He lifted his hands, or Slipstream's and put them on his, or her shoulders. “Did you paint your claws?” Starscream flexed the slender claws. They were rather attractive with brightly painted tips.

“I did that when we were on the Sue! It is so like you to only notice now.”

Starscream smiled. It felt different smiling with Slipstream's faceplate, like smirking was a little more unnatural feeling, but he could do a really great pout. Slipstream could just not sound quite as much a nag with his vocalizer, the scolding tone came out sounding rather suggestive, which he personally did not find offensive. “Is this my red?” Starscream held the claws he now controlled against the armor of his own shell. He was struck by the ineffable rightness of the view of her claws on his vents, and vindicated in suspecting she had been using his supply of paint.

“I was bored. I only used a little.”

“But it was my paint. My precisely mixed magenta-red. It is not communal property. You are not entitled, just because-”

“Because what?” Slipstream asked archly.

“We'll,” Starscream said, still with her voice of course, “you are not my mate or consort.”

For half a klik Slipstream did not answer. Her claws, Starscream's own unpainted claws dug into the unarmored cables and struts just below his wings, her teal and violet wings. Starscream felt the pain Slipstream rendered to her own shell. And then he was aware of a subspace pocket opening behind him. Slipstream leaned forward so that their upper canopies and foreheads both touched. The claws at his back felt like they ceased to exist for a moment.

As Slipstream backed-up, just slightly, Starscream looked down and saw his own claws holding a small jar of light, teal-blue paint.

“I-I used to pain my claws light-blue, like that,” Starscream admitted.

“It has a nice contrast to your red.”

“It was a youngling phase.” He had lived through a few now-regretted trends and fads in Cybertronian fashion, such as after-image-inducing bright colors among Vosian Seekers, camo pattern in value or hue unrelated to one's environment, experimental matte, gloss or metallic finishes, and all in all a lot of neon.

Slipstream, using Starscream's claws of course, removed her black gauntlets – Starscream did not know why that was necessary – and then proceeded to paint the very tips of her claws, actually being Starscream's claws, blue.

Starscream did not stop her work. He watched. Sometimes watching the movement of claws and paint applicator, and sometimes looking up to watch the work-intent expression on his own faceplate. This experience was, weird, to say the least. He was beginning to feel what he suspected was a form of sadness, or regret. Maybe the reason she said it would not work out, was because for all they could not help but notice each other, they also failed to really notice the little things about each other so long as they were intent on their own plans and goals. He wondered if his face really had that intent and relaxed expression when he was working on a project, or if it was only now Slipstream's ghost was behind it.

“Why did you have your armor removed when I came here?” As he asked the question, there was a flare from Slipstream's spark. He could distinguish that it was hers, but by whatever quantum or meta physical means they were linked and in each other's shells, he also felt it, as if it were his own spark.

Slipstream paused, just a millicycle, and then went on painting claws. “Surely you know there are times in which the armor can be removed. To wash, for example.”

“But, if you did wash, you did not replace the armor. Why?” The spark in his chest, Slipstream's spark, flared painfully, again.

Slipstream, in Starscream's shell, winced. “There are two true answers,” she began, “I was angry, maybe jealous that you dismissed me when you went to see Red Alert. I thought you would still come here later, saying it was to recharge, whether it was to be or not. I wanted your attention. I wanted you to notice me and not dismiss me. But, that failed miserably. Starscream! You barely noticed! Am I not beautiful and possessed of a well-proportioned frame? Should you not be honored or at least little flattered that I would make myself so completely vulnerable, just for you to see?”

“Yes, I understand. One would think I should have, but I just felt an important breakthrough had been made.”

“You are so self-centered!

“I wanted to share it with you! With you, regardless of your appearance, because I knew you would understand me!”

“Of course I would! I understand perfectly! But who is to understand me? Who is to understand me, if I am here only to serve your need for an intelligent, understanding companion?”

Starscream did not know how to answer that. It was also doubly disturbing to hear his own voice so rent with emotion, and to see his own optics flickering wildly at him. His own lips trembling. There had been others who made him feel like that, and yet here he was, without intention, hurting Slipstream in the same way. “What was the second truth?” he whispered in Slipstream's voice.

“That I truly imagined, without anger, that if I made myself bare to you, without armor or armament, and you came and lay your shell near mine, that we might just feel very close, and not alone. I wanted to feel close to you and not think at all whether things would work out in the future, but just have a moment of peace. I long for you still!”

“And I want you,” Starscream promised.

“It hurts every time I say it will not work out! I want to be wrong, to see that there is a flaw in my logic. I want to just shut-down the protocols and deny you, yet I cannot! I cannot help the way I feel, but neither can I deny what seems well-founded logic, and so I am at odds with myself all the time. I want to just learn that you, being such a genius, have found the solution, or that I discounted something very obvious in my calculation! So, help me, Starscream, I love you, yet I cannot believe we would ever court successfully!”

Starscream wanted to say he loved her, but the words would not flow, perhaps were not, yet, 100% truthful. “You are so precious to me, and I truly regret how I treated you in the past, but, Trix, how can I even attempt to disprove a theory without understanding on what it is based?”

Starscream expected another impassioned speech, but instead he found their lips pressed together – that is Slipstream used his shell to place a kiss to her own lips, which Starscream then felt. Now, this was narcissism, Starscream thought, just before all thought left him. It was an extremely intimate thing for any Decepticon to do to another, though Starscream had joked about the possibility with seeming casualness in the past, so when they kissed, a flood of warring emotions hit his processor, if it even was his. He was flattered, fearful, aroused, vengeful, hungry, defiant, triumphant, and then peaceful.

Starscream felt as if he were in free fall, dying, yet alive, just strange. Then, he was aware of Slipstream's shifting legs against his, and his clawed grasp on her hips. He was in his own shell, again.

Slipstream's upper body swayed, wings flexing slowly backward and then forward. Her optics fixed on his. Starscream did not really see anything else. He felt the i/o cable finally release.

Starscream licked his lip plating. “Do you mind if we try that once more, now the ghosts are back in their respective shells?”

Slipstream's optics flickered and she seemed to shy from him, but when Starscream pressed forward, she accepted the kiss. The barrage of emotions was equally intense as before, but different in composition: more victory and lust, and absent of fear. The taste. The taste was the same as it was sensed from Slipstream's mouth: like something exquisite had been diluted to the point where one thirsted for more, but could not quite feel satisfied.

Starscream knew, only after he tasted, what the taste meant: that regardless of love, they would never breed without a third. It was something the scientist in him had always suspected, since he first considered the possibility of any of his clones reproducing. Yet there was no sense of disappointment in this. Rather he felt absolute joy in spark, shell and CPU knowing he had finally secured his first of two. “I kill for you,” Starscream toned in Decepticon, “You are mine. You could destroy my spark.” It was more than saying “I love you” in English, and it was true now, as he sang the words.

“Starscream,” she sang. Her voice made Starscream's spark spin and dance in its chamber. Slipstream lifted her arms and removed Starscream's helm. She looked on him, dropping the helm itself to the bedding. Starscream had not let anyone see. Not Megatron, not other Seekers, not Red Alert, not any medi-bots. No one. But he knew himself what Slipstream would see. Where he had once had a three-part black crest, was now an asymmetrical two-thirds of that crest and a self-mutilated stub of the third, which exposed a tattoo signifying mourning, across the features of his casing and ports.

Starscream did not doubt, now, Slipstream would know for whom he secretly wore the mark. And, as of now, he did not doubt she knew he would do the same if ever he lost her. 

Starscream waited, watching Slipstream. He saw her optics fix on his and felt approval radiate from her spark's energy field. She was, there, so completely beautiful, in a way that logic did not explain, and so he knew with certainty it was a fierce primal and chemical attraction. He was hers, but then, she was his. Slipstream swayed again, Starscream pressed the points of his claws into the cables at the small of her back. She clawed at his arms, where he had old wounds, ripping through the thin plating.

Starscream screamed in pain, and at the same moment, Slipstream threw her head back, rattled her wings, and released a high-pitched keening wail. There were no words in it that Starscream knew, but he understood a message, as if the cry bypassed his processor's translation programs and was interpreted directly by his spark. He was claimed, yet challenged.

The call was so shrill and loud, her brothers could hear it across the hall, and maybe other Decepticons in the hotel, but it did not only rely on vibration of air molecules. Some equivalent message was flashed from laser comms on her wing tips, over subspace communications schemes, wireless connection to any nearby datanet she could lock, by radio waves propagating out into space, and every system she had: I claim the highest ranked Seeker as my mate. Let any challengers or worthy thirds come if they so dare! 

Slipstream then collapsed back onto the bedding. Starscream hesitated but a nanocycle and then crawled over her. They were mates, then? He bowed his head to her canopy. He had wanted this, and he desired her so greatly, yet even in his delirious arousal, his logic circuits functioned and informed him something was not right.

“You never answered my question,” Starscream accused.

Fear radiated from Slipstream and Starscream interpreted it as a confirmation of betrayal. All of this? Making him sing his love and willingness to kill or die for her, letting him think they were mates, kissing him? Was it all to evade answering one slagging question about why IT WOULD NOT WORK OUT? 

Starscream's faceplate shifted. He made no conscious choice, but in his rage activated the sonic weapon in his head to deploy from his mouth.

“No!” Slipstream shouted. “Not a lie! Don't you hurt me!”

Starscream maintained just a shred of control over his rage. The weapon shut down, even as Slipstream crawled backward and crab-like away from him.

Slipstream was frightened and very embarrassed. She cowered against the wall, away from the window that signified the universe, away from the door that signified her too-knowing brothers, away from Starscream. She clung to the wall, clawed at it, as if the wall itself was protection. She put her back to Starscream and ducked her head. She was completely unarmored, and her only defense was taking a blow in her rather sensitive wings, though she desperately hoped no blow would come, or that she would find sense enough to evade. 

Slipstream peered over her shoulder and saw Starscream taking out his hurt and frustration on the room. The bedding was shredded. The viewer was kicked-in, and partially melted by a thruster flare. Their discarded armor was kicked or thrown about the interior. Starscream then put a hole in the wall, near the door, with his bare elbow. Finally, Slipstream saw him fall to his knees and beat the flooring, as he screamed wordlessly.

“You fool. You slagging foolish femme,” he whispered then, “I've promised you my very spark. Just what the frag are you playing at?”

“Starscream.”

“Shut-up! Do not say my name!”

“It is not a false ring,” Slipstream whispered. She was so truly afraid, mostly of losing him forever. “Please, Starscream. It was not a lie. Did you not just witness that we triggered some deep-level conditional programming I did not even know existed? I informed the entire universe that you are my mate.”

“How do you explain going from being all emotionally torn over your IT WOULD NOT WORK OUT theory to being the slagging royal Seeker brood pair – or whatever that all was?” Starscream sat back and extended one leg to kick idly at his helm. Either by design or damage, the plates of the center part of his crest tipped toward his left and swept forward toward his face, as if to further emphasis the imbalance with the bald, tattooed right side of his cranial casing.

Slipstream did not know how to answer. She clung still to the wall, embarrassed, ashamed, offended. She wished she could just get away, just run and not have to go through this.

Starscream spoke again, tone clearly signaling barely-restrained anger. “You avoided answering my question about why we cannot court successfully by kissing me! There is no logic in that! Did you think we were just going to continue to avoid the issue and go straight to breeding somehow?”

They had, actually, kind of, somehow done that, but Slipstream dared not mention it. She knew she was the one under attack. And although all the emotions and promises had been true, kissing Starscream had been a pathetic diversionary tactic on her part. She had no excuse.

If only she were like Skywarp, she could just warp out of here and avoid the matter yet again. But she could not transwarp and she had put herself between Starscream and a solid wall. Well, as solid as walls were on a molecular level. Cybertronian mass shifting technology worked because so much of matter consisted of empty space.

“You are so evasive, Slipstream,” Starscream said angrily, “you maneuver your way out of being hit while in flight. You avoid capture, when your brothers are captured. You avoid wasting your own energy by riding everyone else's wake. You somehow evade detection when breaking into information systems, slipping right through the cracks. You annoyingly take the path of least resistance to the point of backing down from a position if another makes a claim.”

It was all true. Starscream should have realized it all long before, but he was an idiot sometimes. Slipstream just did not want to have this out now. Slagging wall. She wanted to run, to fly, to not be pinned down and accountable for all of Starscream's pain.

“Sure you make entire speeches if there's something you want to talk about, and apparently you can be made to give an honest answer if there's some intense, inexplicable pain in your spark! But, the very first time anyone ever asked you a direct question you replied, 'don't ask'! Now if that is not the ultimate evasive answer!?”

It was all just fields and vibrations and harmonics, like so many little sparks spinning and orbiting and vibrating, producing fields about them. Like holomatter. The wall seemed solid. Most beings might swear it to be so, but there was so much empty space.

“There is nothing strong about you! I do not even know why I want you.”

Slipstream flinched. “You do not want strength, Starscream. You value speed and guile, and I have both.”

“Yes, well, even so, I should not really be surprised now, if I learned you were trying to slipstream your way to Decepticon leadership by remaining a step behind me and letting me do all the work for you!” He was so wrong, so completely wrong, but Slipstream felt she deserved to be held suspect.

“You do not even want Decepticon leadership; you just want approval. Not from just anyone, but from someone you view as at least an equal. You want to be pursued, feel wanted, but you need real challenge involved so you can know their opinions are worthy, and they are not just fawning idiots. So, you play hard to get, hoping only the very best may catch you, and in so doing prove you were such a prize as to be worthy of their effort, by which they and their approval are worthy of you. Yet, the sad thing is, you have too few equals. You crave the excitement of the pursuit, but it is lonely. Without an end to the chase, without being caught, the process becomes endless, meaningless, and you are left alone.”

“Yes,” Starscream agreed.

In theory, solid matter could pass through other solid matter; it was just a matter of getting the spacing and timing just right.

Starscream watched, confused, as Slipstream, somehow, slipped right through the wall. He hesitated only a nanocycle, before he realized that if Slipstream had not departed existence completely, she was likely alone and bare of all her armor in the hotel corridor. “Skywarp!” Starscream sent out a comm, even as he called the coy 2IC's name. 

Skywarp received the comm from Starscream, and then a moment later, another from Slipstream, begging for help. He took a risky shortcut using Slipstream's comm signal to orient his jump, bypassing a few steps of calculation, and warped from the common area of one suite directly into the hall.

Skywarp found Slipstream curled on the floor, stripped of armor, and leaking oil from somewhere, though he did not immediately see damage. “Please, 'Warp,” she said, vocalizer hitching.

Skywarp was certain he did not want to know how Slipstream had got here like this. He knew Dirge had joined the others, so there was an empty room away from the rest. Skywarp guessed they did not want to meet Starscream, so he made the calculations as quickly as possible and then warped Slipstream into Dirge's vacated room. He led her to the wash area and then attempted to step back.

Slipstream, hunched and head-tucked, tugged at his nearest arm. “I do not want to just fall away again.”

“Y-you're scaring me.”

“Just stay. Don't let me slip away somewhere.”

“Yes, all right,” Skywarp agreed, “Are you that badly injured? Is your spark dimming?”

“He-He didn't hurt me. I just can't see Him now.”

“Well, can I comm someone to help?”

“No! You can't let them see!”

“But, maybe just Red. She would do it if she knew you were injured. She would keep a secret.”

“It would be a great favor if she wanted to help me,” Slipstream said, sounding a bit more her normal self.

Skywarp gave a nod. He commed Thundercracker, while he stood near and let Slipstream wash. 'TC.'

'What happened?'

'I am not certain I want to know, but something definitely; they called me in a panic. She was alone in the hall, leaking oil and practically down to bare metal. I am in Dirge's room with her. You need to find Starscream. I think he is still over here in the other suite. Go alone, but make him tell you what happened to Slipstream.'

'Did he harm her? Did the glitch do something inappropriate?'

'She says not, but she doesn't want to see him, either.'

'Stay with her. I will send Red Alert to check her injury.' Thundercracker got up from the most centrally located of the small seats in the common area, which he had claimed. Red Alert and Ramjet were again in their rest chamber, door open as they sat somewhat apart discussing basic medi-bot procedures any mechanism could perform.

“Doctor, I ask that you give aid to Slipstream. She is in Dirge's room. Skywarp reports an oil line rupture and...she is not in her most stable mental state.”

“Of course...”

“You have to go alone.”

Red Alert nodded.

“Saying 'go alone' is in no way conspicuous and does not do more to raise suspicion than saying nothing.”

Thundercracker huffed at Ramjet. “I am certain it was all entirely appropriate between them,” Thundercracker said in imitation Ramjet's sometimes deadpan tone. Thundercracker carried Red Alert's kit for her, and walked her as far as the common area of the other suite.

'Red is here,' he commed to Skywarp. Having a reply he said, “Go in; they expect you.” Thundercracker turned. There was a burnt smell coming from across the suite. The door to the other rest chamber was closed.

'Starscream!' Thundercracker commed. It was a little surprising when Starscream actually answered. Not that Thundercracker's observational and deductive skills were flawed, but that he had allowed his ego to under-estimate Starscream again.

'Is she all right?'

'Skywarp and Red Alert are with her now.'

'Who decided you should come confront me? Skywarp?'

Thundercracker huffed. He would have done it regardless. He did not fear Starscream. 'I am coming in.' Thundercracker found the door unlocked and entered the chamber. He left the door slightly ajar, simply as a wise precaution against the so-called Dormitory Effect.

“This place is a disgrace. You have funds to cover this damage?” Thundercracker demanded.

Starscream laughed darkly. Thundercracker could not easily see him, but his sensors placed him as crouched within the wash area. “You remind me of my Pata sometimes.”

“Who is that?”

“First of my creators: Pata, Mata and Nati. Sparkling terms of endearment.”

“I am sure they made a nice home for you,” Thundercracker hazarded.

“You know Pata was the strong, thoughtful one. They always made him take care of discipline.”

“Sounds like a responsible mech.”

“He ripped out his own spark when Mata was taken and then executed under orders of Governor Straxus for her alleged trading of secrets to rival powers.”

“Is any of this true?”

“Nati and the soon-to-be Decepticons said he had done it out of personal honor, because he did not wish to live on with the dishonor of having a traitorous mate. But now, I am sure he did it purely out of grief. What would you do if 'Warp were killed? Would you forget your responsibility to all the rest and rip out your spark?”

“Stop being such a glitch. If you felt abandoned by your creators and decided to blame Autobots for all your troubles due to some spurious allegation of secret trade, that has nothing to do with me!” Thundercracker silently opened his comm channel to Skywarp, to allow him to listen, should he choose.

“Her claws are crushing my spark, even now.” Starscream laughed again, “I'm really fragged this time. I wonder if I am also like him. So given to emotion, extreme responses in grief or rage. I wonder what I might do if she betrayed me for real. It's funny really, when I think about it now, it suddenly seems like Megatron was in love with me.”

'Was he?' Skywarp wanted to know.

“Did you hit your head during all the staking of claims?” Thundercracker asked disdainfully. He found Starscream's helm and kicked it toward the wash area. “I am certain that is your over-inflated self image talking.”

“You should know.”

'Tell me why I ordered everyone to protect him.'

Skywarp emoted laughter, 'He's useful to your plans, very useful.'

'Later we will revisit a few memories.'

'My favorite show!'

Thundercracker smiled.

“Does she love me at all? Or was it her plan to make you think she was backing down by taking the position of third, then convince you it was your idea to let me be Liege, and then make herself consort to me? Play us against each other and ultimately take leadership for herself?”

“You could almost convince me of your paranoid delusion, except that I do not believe Slipstream is a greater mastermind than Skywarp.”

'You flatter me, Sir.'

'How is she?'

'Embarrassed. Red Alert is explaining the Dormitory Effect. Slipstream understands that her actions were not unnatural in essence, but that perhaps the timing of certain actions was quickened. Did you know about this claim of breeding rights that can be separate from courtship?'

'Of course I suspected there might be something like it,' Thundercracker insisted. 'It is like the stories in which the prince must have a spouse of suitable lineage, such as another royal, unless some quest or challenge proves someone considered common to actually be more worthy.'

'Useful in cultures with inbred royals,' Skywarp observed, 'it must be a little bit like betrothal or making a wedding contract between families, without the two yet having courted or bonded in any way. I wonder why Slipstream knew of it.'

'She would not have. Whoever triggered on Starscream might have done it, I suspect. Ask Red Alert if she knows: What did Starscream's creators look like.' Thundercracker spoke aloud to Starscream. “Slipstream is embarrassed it seems, but she should be well.”

'They were all three Seekers, and one was femme,' Skywarp reported.

“That is good,” Starscream said.

'I started to suspect when we all received that communication. Our pitiful, valuable Liege is one of very few Seekers left, and has codes passed to him by three Seeker creators, whom I suspect were not closely related to each other. He is, in a mechological sense, a considerable specimen of our kind. He is Prince of the Skies and Tyrant of the Firmament, by conception of his spark. That he is also a very high-ranked Decepticon is just bonus.'

“Pata,” Starscream said.

Thundercracker cursed himself, very secretly, for not thinking to check Starscream's status before now. It should have been curious at least that he was hiding, strangely nostalgic and reminding Thundercracker not to abandon his followers.

Starscream was sitting slumped against the wall, with his right-hand claws trying to keep pressure on the bleeding wound on his left arm. “Dead. Nanites can't repair.”

“You stupid slagging drama queen!” Thundercracker bellowed. He viciously ripped-out Starscream's injured arm at the shoulder ball joint, shutting down his open comm channels as he did.

Starscream screamed and then spat at him.

Thundercracker smacked Starscream aside the head, with his own arm. Then placed a swift kick to his abdomen, just below the canopy, arresting his ventilation. “Stay down!” Seeing Starscream had the remaining fight knocked out of him, Thundercracker stooped and collected the exposed lines now dangling from Starscream's joint. He deftly twisted the lines or spliced them back into each other to stop all flow to the non-existent arm.

“Vengeance...Megatron....”

“Well, I am starting to see the frustration in wanting to kill you for your utter foolishness, but requiring use of your skills.”

Thundercracker reactivated his comms. 'We are all right,' he commed to Skywarp. Then, he commed to Scalpel. “Doctor,” Thundercracker said aloud, as he sent the comm.

Scalpel pinged an affirmative. 

Thundercracker smirked, looking at the limp arm now clutched in his claws. “I found something for you to fix.”


	27. Mass Production

“I found that data crystal you wanted, Lord Starscream,” Smokejumper said, like his mould-brother, Smokesniper, he was a Decepticon warrior with a jet form designed as a fighter escort. BB, Sunstorm and Thundercracker had been on good terms with this team, but with most of Thundercracker's so-called Team Luna voluntarily placed in stasis for the remainder of their journey, Starscream found himself dealing with this bomber squadron.

Smokejumper was the nominal leader, as none of the others seemed inclined to challenge him, and the designated captain of the Decepticon Voyager Class starship Acheron. He led a six-mech team consisting of three bombers and three fighters, himself included. They were service-bonded in bomber/jet pairs – Starscream had heard their team use the jargon 'Assault/Ace' – with the counterparts in each pair displaying like colors. Smokejumper's partner was the big olive drab and grey mech, called Dreadwing, whom Starscream often saw at the long range sensor or targeting stations on the Acheron's bridge.

Starscream accepted the small blue crystal in his right hand; he was still favoring his left, and thus placed the data pad that he had been holding in his right on the desk, which Smokejumper had insisted he make his, in order to collect the data crystal. Though Starscream was grateful to be whole, he was not in any way pleased that his only option, other than being permanently unbalanced or crippled, had been accepting a protomass graft. He was even less pleased at the invasive procedure Scalpel had been required to use in order to get Starscream's own body to produce a mass of blank nanites for the graft.

Starscream noticed Smokejumper still standing attentively before him. “That will be all,” Starscream dismissed him.

“My Lord,” Smokejumper said. His squad had shown excellent command of Decepticon military protocol, and as Smokesniper had confessed their youth, someone must have either been responsible for their training or programming. The combined youth and sameness of their forms suggested someone was authorizing either cloning or mass production – no pun intended – to stabilize Decepticon numbers. To Starscream's informed thinking, this was a definite sign of Imperial interference in the operations of Decepticon refugees in the outer rim territory. That the Assault/Ace pairs had the ability to combine shells and consciousnesses, in a manner not entirely unlike young Jetfire and Jetstorm forming Safeguard, suggested Jhiaxus might be involved. Coincidentally, it made Starscream wonder if someone among the Autobots were not still interested in the medical and reproductive practices of the Imperials of the so-called Cybertronian Empire; someone like Perceptor.

Regardless of the means of their origins, the fact that they had until now shown the excellent protocol gave Starscream slight pause. He was of course a lord, but whether he was Smokejumper's lord was arguable. Starscream had to assume given the circumstances that Smokejumper did actually mean to put himself in Starscream's service. “Permission to speak,” Starscream said slowly.

“My Lord, if you would see fit to share your intentions upon reaching New Kaon, I would be better able to determine the most effective means of providing assistance.”

Starscream gave a nod, just to communicate he had heard. He had noticed already that this one was all about efficiency. His squad members were so similar in shell and military function, but they were all unique in their sparks, with individual quirks and personalities. They were no drones or basic programs. If there had been attempts at assembly-line mass production, then New Kaon had a suitably advanced supercomputer, as well as source of extremely high levels of energy to spark new life without either AllSpark or breeding of existing Cybertronians.

Starscream did not expect New Kaon had quite that level of resources. Another possibility was that sparks previously held in containment, either as a means of detention for criminals, or life support for grievously injured warriors, had been infused into mass-produced shells. However, in that case, as with a reformat, the spark and the ghost that went with it should seem old, even when the body was new. This team all seemed young, like Starscream's clones.

Starscream wondered if someone might have initiated a military breeding program. The breeding itself was the same as with those who did so out of love or powerful instinct, but was done under command and only to fill ranks. But, that, unless done a suitably long time ago, which was doubtful given Starscream's fairly brief loss of access to top level Decepticon intelligence, would have produced simplistic and juvenile minds. 

Smokejumper's team – Dreadwing, Gigant, Smokesniper, Darkwing and Smokescream – did have the air of youth, but they were clearly fully fledged Decepticons and capable of crewing a Voyager Class starship.

They had to be some type of clones or similar experiment in mechological engineering. Starscream suspected it was not straight cloning. His clones were not 100% unaltered clones. Influence from the AllSpark, along with slight variations in the timing of the cloning progress had produced beings that might be more appropriately considered Starscream's previously unrealized siblings, rather than identical copies. They were extremely close to being him, but they were not him, and every cycle were more themselves than they were like him at all.

So, this left some form of mechological engineering, which someone had convinced Decepticon Leadership to authorize, as a means to solving the problem of their dwindling numbers. Being Starscream was himself rather knowledgeable about the field, and that he'd seen the resulting young warriors were jets, not insects, he was betting on Jhiaxus being the mad scientist behind this. And that meant definite Imperial influence.

Starscream disliked Imperials and their ways, for various personal and professional reasons. Yes, part of it was that the second and femme among his creators was a Seeker from within the Cybertronian Empire, who had, not coincidentally, been knowledgeable about their medical and reproductive technology. Otherwise, Starscream was simply educated enough to see that their ways, if taken to an extreme, were as ill-advised and ineffectual as Decepticons attempting to keep their warriors from breeding. The Decepticons may just dwindle to nothing, but the Imperials would multiply even as they became dim-sparked drones without capability of individual thought. As a Decepticon, the freedom to follow one's individual will was practically a primary function; Starscream would defend it to his death...or his second death...or his twenty-third.

All of it: protomass transplant and grafting; bio-morphic, asexual reproduction through budding; internal production of viscous masses of blank nanites; mass sharing; cloning; the obsession with evolution and new forms; deep-level gestalt or hive consciousness; conquest through interbreeding; belief in engineering superior beings; belief in racial supremacy. If one found a liquid metal baby on one's doorstep there was a slight chance it was a wayward protoform crafted by Autobots or Decepticons, but there was always a greater chance that anything of the sort carried the stench of Imperial science. One should see the cute, viscous mass of nanites as the false gift containing evils that it was and run.

“It must be reassuring for the Decepticon refugees to have found such a powerful ally in the Cybertronian Empire. An ally at such an easy reach in every direction. A generous ally to have provided much need assistance.”

“My Lord?”

“Or will the recent communications logs on this crystal suggest anything otherwise?”

“One does not speak against their allies, Sir.”

“Of course they do not,” Starscream agreed, “I travel to New Kaon on a simple trade and resupply mission, before I and my escort leave to our continuing work.”

“Sir.”

“Or do I have such a reputation among Decepticons that they would assume otherwise?”

Smokejumper managed to wring extra attentiveness from his stance. “Only reputation for Leadership, My Lord.”

“I do have some experience with that. Someone needs to stay in control when others are losing their head.” Starscream scowled; that used to be a funnier joke!

Smokejumper seemed blessedly uniformed of events on Earth. “Yes, Sir. My Lord is a most effective leader.”

The flattery was a nice touch, but lately Starscream had been in a unique position to see how flattery could be either disingenuous or a weakness, especially when one sycophant was challenged by another. “It will take time to collect my supplies,” Starscream said. “Perhaps, since you are more familiar with the colony, you would be willing to indicate some contacts who would be able to help me resupply, as I would hate to waste what time I have dealing with the wrong mechs.”

“Consider it done, My Lord,” Smokejumper said in crispest Decepticon, which was to say he had a slight Imperial accent. More evidence.

Starscream restrained his smirk. “You are dismissed, Captain.”

With Smokejumper gone, Starscream returned to his work. He glanced at the plate of beryllium slices, hastily hidden in a storage drawer when Smokejumper had requested entry; but refused, again, to eat. He hoped now he had cleared-up that matter for their Captain, that the rest of his team would be satisfied with Sunstorm and BB. The remainder of Team Luna, but for Scalpel, who felt like he was at recharge in Starscream's cockpit, were in stasis pods in the live-cargo bay of the Acheron.

The Acheron was not as large as the Leader Class Nemesis had been. It was smaller, more easily run by a skeleton crew, and more heavily armed proportionate to its size. It was the type of vessel Decepticons usually deployed in the earlier phases of conquest, after the Seekers and Scout Class vessels had gone in. It was not as stealthy as those smaller ships, but it could carry far more troops, and if need arise, shoot its way through a blockade or make an assault run on any early warning stations within the outer reaches of a star system.

Due to its rather average size, the Archeron had more stasis pods than it had cabins designated for use as personal quarters. The office given over to Starscream was the Captain's. It was sparse of decoration, and had absolutely no clutter. Some ships captains or Decepticon leaders had a clutter of bureaucratic datapads about their workspace. Starscream himself had been guilty of keeping his less secure findings stored on external storage devices or loaded into datapads. The tactile or visual senses used in working from a datapad, as opposed to working strictly within one's internal processor, helped some learn more efficiently, better organize their thoughts, or just to make room on internal media for the important conclusions.

Starscream was not yet prepared to interface directly with the ship's systems, so he was viewing the logged communications externally. He intended to share his findings with Thundercracker. After all, he was just a figurehead. Thundercracker was responsible for the real decision making.

It was strange, after so many megacycles of literally being the power that stood just behind Megatron's throne; whispering his criticism as Megatron sat the throne, controlling everything, and making all the decisions. Now, Starscream was not only in a very real and hard-earned way Megatron's heir apparent, he was apparently Lord over the Decepticons, given crown and cape and cannon, and probably would be offered a throne if they had one. Yet he was playing figurehead to Thundercracker's power-behind-the throne, while Skywarp was Thundercracker's own power that literally stood a step behind his leader. Starscream was beginning to feel the virtual patter of turbine heels at the edges of his cloak: Slipstream.

Somewhere in their twisted chain of command was irony, or a grand punchline. Something about “too many Starscreams” or “how many Starscreams does it take to lead the Decepticons?” They were all of them vying to push another one to take point and remain in that comfortable yet powerful position of being second-in-command.

Skywarp was especially good at it. In a way, it made Starscream ridiculously proud, though it meant he had to accept he had always been setting himself up to fail to remove Megatron, while trying to convince himself that was just what he wanted to do.

All the communication logs told Starscream was that his suspicions were supported by some amount of evidence. The Imperials of the Cybertronian Empire, who had reconnected with their home world of Cybertron just prior to the Great War, and who made no attempt to hide their disdain for 'degenerate' Autobots and Decepticons, were meddling in the affairs of Decepticons. They were taking advantage of the Decepticons' refugee status after losing Cybertron to the Autobots, and their now obvious dwindling numbers to take control.

If allowed to continue, there would soon be no Decepticons. Then, most likely, after using the last Decepticons to weaken Autobot colonies in their path, the Cybertronian Empire would mass an assault against their former home world of Cybertron itself. The Autobots might lose. The Imperials likely already had a host of spies, sleeper agents and sympathizers among them. Though, they were not alone in that practice. Starscream knew Decepticon agents had been placed in other factions. For that matter, Autobots very likely did have their own spies and agents in the outer rim. 

As much as Starscream hated Autobots, he actually hated Imperials more. That he had ties to them himself was just all part of their joke played on him. In fact, the first femmes to appear within their race, be they branded with Autobot red, Decepticon purple or Imperial green, had come to them through Imperial science. This meant that many Autobots and Decepticons, who were femme or had femmes in their lineage had some Imperial in them.

They were all one race, but divided by factions. The Imperials had simply broken ties first, long ago, and reestablished contact before the war. Starscream had, during his service to Megatron, started to suspect maybe they had started the war: posing as friend to both sides, while they emphasized the problems with the other. It was all very Quintesson of them! It made Starscream mad enough he just wanted to spit. They were all of them to blame for Jetfire! All of them, including himself. And probably for Mata, too, but Starscream had decided as he got older, that she must have known what she was getting into.

It was supposed to be a simple matter of supplying. The Decepticons he trusted to remain loyal to him were in New Kaon, and so he had needed to convince Thundercracker to go, so he could collect his things put into safe keeping. But, considering that the Imperials were so obviously manipulating the needy Decepticons – It should have been obvious as soon as Cyclonus joined Team Chaar; he was too entirely Galvatron's thrall – and things were bad enough even young mechs like Smokejumper were hoping Starscream had arrived to lead them, this was no simple resupply mission.

Since when was he savior of the Decepticons?

It was a very good thing, Starscream decided, that Team Luna had so many calculating, scheming, manipulative, deceptive Seekers. They would need every one, plus all the mercenary back-up and medical support, and all the allies they could salvage from the wreckage of the Decepticon faction. Thundercracker wanted to save the Decepticons with sparklings, but none of them were going to have a safe haven, not in New Kaon, on Cybertron, or even Earth, if the Imperials were allowed to interfere. It would take all the guile they had, all their tricks, to get in, gather intel, analyze and quickly respond. It was going to be like a sparkling training-game of Mirror Response Mode, dealing with the machinations of the Imperials.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Using END notes.
> 
> As of this chapter, the fic started to go in a direction somewhat different than I had previously planned. That I was trying to figure out the best way to proceed, as I wrote, the difficulty contributed to my ultimate failing to update.
> 
> For sake of clarity I made slight alterations to the names of some characters. The actual Transformers combining stealth assault bombers and ace evader fighter jets are as follows:  
> (BWII) BB/Starscream – black and purple with yellow glass – combine as “Formation Scream”??  
> (G2) Dreadwing/Smokescreen – dark blue and black with amber glass – combine as “Darkwing”  
> (RiD) Dreadwind/Smokejumper – olive green and grey with red glass – combine as “Dreadwing”  
> (RobotMasters) Gigant Bomb/Smokesniper – blue and light blue with gold glass – combine as “Gigant Sniper”
> 
> Because I am already using characters with the names Dreadwind, and Smokescreen, and the combining form names are so similar to the bombers from different pairs, I made a few changes. Dreadwind the bomber is now Dreadwing (with the 'g', like his combined form), Dreadwing the bomber is now Darkwing (like his combined form, so as not to be confused with the other bomber or combined form), Smokescreen is now Smokescream (so as to not be confused with the red and blue gambling door-winger who already has been confused with Crosswise, and to tie 'scream' into all the smoke and wing names they seem to like.)


	28. New Tattoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First appearance (in this fic) of the Team Luna Bunny Brand (copied from Moon's overwhelmingly cute beast point symbol)

The wide portal in the small rec area aboard the Acheron gave gave a ghostly reflection on its mirror-like surface, as the interior was lit brighter than the depths of space without. All those who had been in Stasis were now online, and already having had their briefing, were at their rations, and anticipating arrival in New Kaon.

As the Acheron made its approach its to the inner-system planet on which the city-state of New Kaon was built, its port side was struck by the light of the nearby star. The interior of the rec area was bathed in blue and Slipstream and Skywarp were first to rush to the portal. Dirge, who always wanted what other's had, including views, rushed after them.

“A blue star,” Skywarp said softly, “They burn hot, but it's so pretty, like a giant spark!”

Slipstream gave Skywarp a playful shove, “If all sparks were blue!” She laughed.

“I can't see any city light!” Dirge said. “Do you see? I want to see!”

“They said it was on a bulge of landmass in the southern hemisphere,” Slipstream said.

“It's probably on the day side of the planet now,” Skywarp guessed.

“Would you look at that glow!” Slipstream said, looking at the apparent light about the rocky world, “That's atmosphere!”

Sunstorm and Ramjet both pressed in from behind to have a look. “It's been a while,” Sunstorm said and put one hand each atop Slipstream's and Skywarp's helms, as he pressed between them. “We could go star-bathing.”

“I am sure none of us just want a chance to fly,” Ramjet said, “haven't been longing for some laminar flow.”

“Oh, I so want to fly,” Slipstream said dreamily, “Cybertron was such a tease.”

“I want to fly!” Dirge asserted.

“They've got to let us, right?” Skywarp asked.

“Of course we're going to fly!” Slipstream said excitedly, “We're commanders, you and I. It's not like working for Megatron; he went from space fighter to twirly-bird. He never understood!”

“TC's gotta let us – I mean General Thundercracker, of course.”

At that Thundercracker called to them from the corridor, “Captain Smokejumper is going to allow us to deploy from the launch bay!”

“Yes! That means us, too!” Smokesniper said from his seat. He had seen the planet before, but he had been cooped up inside the Acheron and space stations long enough.

“Ja,” Gigant agreed.

Dirge jumped about anxiously, waiting for the large bombers to exit the room, so he could get to the corridor. As soon as Gigant made it out, Darkwing ducked through, and Dirge had to wait again.

Skywarp and Slipstream were excited, but they stalled in heading for the launch bay, already trying to determine weather conditions by their observations of the planet from space. When they finally went from the rec area, they found Thundercracker waiting for them, just leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and looking cool.

Slipstream noticed a little blue figure on his arm, just below his left shoulder armor. “What's that?” she asked, pointing. It looked something like a cute petrorabbit, which was odd, because real petrorabbits were rather vicious, and also because Thundercracker was wearing it. “Is is a decal, or paint deco?”

“It's a brand,” Thundercracker said, “The nanites are probably still bleeding pigment.”

But you still have Decepticon brands on your wings...?”

“It's a Team Luna sub-faction brand,” Skywarp said proudly, “I have one, too.” His was on the left side of his cockpit, oriented to appear upright when he was in his jet mode, almost like nose art.

“But it doesn't even look like the Moon,” Slipstream commented, “Actually, it looks a little like the shape of a hand making that 'V' sign for peace or victory, or whatever those human gestures mean.”

“It is a cute, round face with rabbit ears,” Thundercracker explained. “It is our brand. I authorized it.”

“Well, I am part of Team Luna.”

“You can have one!” Skywarp offered. He drew his tattoo pen from subspace. It was not really his own pen, exactly, it had been among the shared supplies, and a pen they had previously used to aid in their disguises on Cybertron. “Where do you want it?”

Slipstream considered this. Evidently, from seeing these two, there was no rule about placement. “Maybe on my back. No, what about the tail fin? So it is oriented correctly when in flight.”

“It will look really cute near your heel, too,” Skywarp said. He bent down with the pen. Slipstream kicked up her left heel and braced herself against the wall for balance. She felt Skywarp hold her leg, and then the pressure of the pen connecting as it reprogrammed her color nanites.

Thundercracker remained leaning against the wall, nearby. Slipstream turned her head. She thought his look disapproving. “I am embarrassed enough about the whole thing.”

“I said nothing.”

“You are giving me that disapproving look.”

“I had assumed, if something dishonorable were to happen, it would have been your honor I would need to defend. I do not like to be proven wrong. I can only conclude that I had some erroneous information from the beginning.”

“I-I'm s-sure Slipstream didn't hurt anyone on purpose.”

“I do not like to find that anyone has made Skywarp so uncomfortable as to start stammering and stuttering again,” Thundercracker growled.

“Skywarp talks to me,” Slipstream said quietly. “He knows I am grateful and I am sorry he had to be involved or see me in such a state.”

“I hate how you back down, how you cower!” Thundercracker bellowed, leaving the wall.

Skywarp stood, brand completed, and took a step back.

“It was never what was attractive about Skywarp, and it is no more desirable on you! What kind of leader, a Decepticon General, has Commanders who stammer, cower, back-down and apologize?”

“A lot of them?” Slipstream guessed.

“And am I not great? Better than others? So great that I lead others who are also strong?”

“We are strong,” Skywarp said firmly, “Our team is strong. Smart. Unrivaled in the air.”

“And you?” Thundercracker demanded, “Tell me you are truly and still worthy to wear our brand.”

“I am,” Slipstream said, putting effort into standing straight and lifting her head. “You know that I still excel at information retrieval, and I may not be...”

“No! You only tell me your strengths! Can your compute that?”

Slipstream tried again. “I am you most capable Air Commander and Information Officer and the best flier you have, except Starscream.”

Thundercracker's optics flared. “You are on my team. You are the best. Do not lower your voice to speak his name. Do not avoid saying it in public. Tell me, now, did you want him?”

“What? Sir?”

“Did you desire Starscream and find him at least to have potential to be a worthy mate?”

“I did,” Slipstream said quickly.

“Did you claim him?”

“Yes.” Slipstream wanted to fade, to step back, but she remained at attention.

“Gave him a memorable wound?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Was he able to resist you? Did he argue your claim?”

“No, Sir. Starscream has pledged to kill or die for me!”

Thundercracker gave a nod of approval. He smiled, it was not quite the Starscream smirk, but it was a lopsided, fang-baring, smug expression. “You remember that, Commander. If there are any doubts between you, keep them private. You will not, as a member of my team, show such weakness when we are among other Decepticons, or those Imperials. Understood?”

Slipstream gave a sharp nod. “Sir. Yes, Sir.”

“Same for you, Skywarp.”

“I will have them believing whatever you wish, Oh, Mighty Thundercracker!”

Thundercracker gave Skywarp that same smug fang-baring smile. “Go show Dirge your brands, so he will want one. Ramjet may need convincing. Sunstorm will say it seems a brilliant idea, and we will hold him to that literally until he is branded as well.”

“Ramjet will not be a problem, Thundercracker,” Skywarp said confidently, “He dislikes cute things, but in his perverse sense of humor would accept wearing a cute brand, just because it is shockingly something he would not be expected to do.” 

“Excellent. What would I do without you?”

“Perish the thought,” Skywarp said. He shuttered one optic as he looked back over shoulder and wing, then hurried lightly along the corridor, towards the launch bay.

Slipstream walked after, determined to show a strong public face, but still a little confused. Did Thundercracker really believe she had acted correctly or did he believe she had treated their Liege dishonorably, yet was more concerned that she pretend she had acted correctly, in order to look strong and make him look stronger in comparison?

“Slipstream,” Thundercracker said, catching up with her, as she had failed to rush to show off her new brand. “There is a little motto, a mantra if you will, that sometimes helps Skywarp: Do not think, just do it.”

“We need to think. Everyone needs to think.”

“But not over-think,” Thundercracker amended, “Sometimes it is enough to accept things the way they are, without questioning motivation and every potential variable. You, like Skywarp, should be smart enough to understand I do not mean times in which calculation is necessary to your work.”

“You mean, stray thoughts that lead to anxiety or wondering. Over-thinking that leaves us open to being controlled by our emotions.”

“Yes. Even I can have this problem.”

“You? Admitting a flaw?”

“I know I am magnificent and superior to most everyone, but if you notice, I have never once claimed to be a god.”

“This is true,” Slipstream admitted. So, she thought, the Giga-ego really did have limits.

“Sometimes, it is the most intelligent and strongest act to just accept something: no questions as to why, or whether it is normal, or if something is done in the appropriate order.”

“But, Sir, Thundercracker, it is a little surprising. You usually make it known when you disapprove of or actions because they are not appropriate or most honorable or....”

“Just because I am better than everyone, does not mean that I am perfect. There is a little room for improvement. My life would be rather pointless if I were perfect from the start. I would have nothing to strive for.”

“We thought you strove to let everyone else know how flawed they were.”

“I do seem to be keenly perceptive when it comes to finding flaws,” Thundercracker said proudly, “But, we are family, correct? Kin in spark and shell. 'Blood' thicker than water. If I care for any of you, then I should want you to be as perfect as you can be, too.”

“Yes.”

“And if you care for any of us, you should trust us enough to be with us wholly, as you truly are, to stay, and permit us to know you.”

“It is difficult.”

“If I can be with you now and admit to flaws, if Skywarp can show us all strength and courage...if Ramjet can be honest and sincere...I know you can do it.”

“And Dirge, and Sunstorm?”

“We can all do it.”

Starscream had done it, Slipstream thought. Maybe Red had helped make it possible, but Slipstream did not spite her that; not now. Red had helped Slipstream when she was injured and been very kind about it. She had not seemed judgemental, or angry.

Slipstream had been able to see Starscream in a way no one had seen for megacycles, and it did not matter why or who had inspired his change. Like Thundercracker said, sometimes it was best just to accept that something was. Slipstream had been able to see, and seeing had allowed her to understand there were not two Starscreams; there was just Starscream, and she loved him.

And if she believed in gods, she would pray she had not damaged her chance to be with him. They had not been alone together since she slipped through that wall. She had barely even seen him.

“When Starscream shows up, I will need to challenge him,” Thundercracker said.

Slipstream was startled, had wondered if Starscream would launch with them. She did not know why Thundercracker needed to challenge him.

“Not over you,” Thundercracker snorted. He smiled then, “You have a bit of an ego, too.”

“Of course.”

“I just need to know where I stand against him, in the air.”

“I haven't had a chance to fly with either of you very long, but I can still promise with certainty he's going to be faster and more agile in the long run. Maybe, in a real battle, you could get him with some sonic concussion blast and knock him out of the sky. But, you can't match him as long as he's in the air.”

“You seem very certain.”

“I am. You and Sunstorm are not the only ones capable of perceiving flaws or assets. I think you would stand a really good chance on the ground. You might possibly win in a gladiatorial-style duel. But, Starscream's perfection in air.”

“I knew there was something I liked about this one,” Starscream said.

“Oh My god-ds that I don't believe in!” Slipstream swore, awkwardly. She had not realized Starscream was in range of hearing.

Thundercracker laughed. “You and I are having it out,” he said to Starscream.

“Yes, yes, I promise to save you a dance, but I cannot really afford to limit myself to one partner.”

Slipstream turned her head to look on Starscream, who had stopped by her side. He was standing in a relaxed manner with his left hand on his hip. He had that genuinely at ease look to which Slipstream was still not quite accustomed. “Are you overcharged?”

“Nag,” he teased, “Of course I am not over-charged, I am simply the exact correct amount of charged; I recharged quite well, and my arm feels better.”

“He's as excited to get to fly again as the rest of us,” Thundercracker observed.

“Oh yes,” Starscream agreed, happily, “Flying is among my list of turn-ons in my pictorial.” Starscream struck a new pose and Slipstream saw his left arm did look better. Not only was the damage she had done repaired, but there was no longer any sign of old damage, whats more, he had a cute blue bunny approximately where the rough weld lines used to be.

“They got to you, too?”

“Got?”

“The brand.”

“Yes. I even got the joke.”

“Just ask Skywarp, later,” Thundercracker suggested, not wanting to listen to Starscream talk about himself much more. 

Smokejumper called over the ship-wide comms, “Launch bay door opening once we reach optimal altitude.”

Slipstream jumped excitedly and went to the interior door leading to the bay. She heeded the Cybertronian warnings posted there, informing crew to use airlock procedures when the vessel was in space. Starscream and Thundercracker waited until Slipstream had passed through the set of doors, to follow.

“I heard you already had a tattoo, but Slipstream would not say where, or what it was.”

“I wanted a full redeco, but that does not really aid infiltration.”

“My guess is on your head,” Thundercracker said, pointing toward his own pointy helm, “I know it is not on your arms.”

“My Trix was probably just trying to insinuate she saw more of me than she did.”

“Is it Slipstream, or did you purge so many negative emotions in your chat with Red Alert? Ramjet knows, obviously, but he loves to not say.”

“Maybe after you die a few times you will know,” Starscream said, “I am just so over things that happened in the past.”

“And out of Megatron's shadow for once. He is still alive, you know. We might have to deal with him at some point.”

“We?”

“Well, I'll leave him to you if you like, but I want to take-out Team Thrull if we ever see them again.”

“Why do you hate them so much? Do you even know?” Starscream asked.

“It could even be I hate them because we have a memory of some detail on which I have not consciously dwelt. It is enough for me to know I just dislike everything about them. Why does Galvatron wear the Decepticon Brand at all? He's obviously tied to the Empire.”

“It is only suspicion, but I think Galvatron is actually a little like Megatron. He is too proud to want to consider that he has masters secretly giving him orders. He might even have it in mind that he pretends allegiance and will double cross the Imperials, if he sees a chance. So, he makes ties with the Decepticons, against that day.”

“Ah, to buy a little insurance, should he need back-up against the Imperials.”

“Still, neither of them is really good for the Decepticons. Megatron completely lost sight of his original freedom-fighting goals and just became obsessed with power and ancient artifacts. I think, for a time, I was becoming corrupt in the same way.”

“But, you are better now,” Thundercracker said. Starscream was as unaccustomed to familiarity in Thundercracker's tone as the others were his own recent peace. Though social skills were not his forte, Starscream thought this was how equals or peers acted. That they gave each other title and rank seemed, in light of all this, a deception for outsiders; really, none of them was a leader, or else they were all equally leaders.

“Always better than Megatron,” Starscream said lightly.

Thundercracker laughed. “You should have taken us seriously from the start, My Liege,” he said, “then you would not have had to die.”

“I did have to die, in order to take you seriously.”

“I'll use that, you know. To recruit. Play you up as resurrected savior of the Decepticons.”

“I am not a god, yet, Thundercracker.”

Thundercracker laughed again. He liked Starscream this way; he had a better sense of humor. He was a genuinely tolerable co-conspirator.

“So, ready to fly? I will beat you, you know.”

“I will still do my best, or worst, depending how you look at it.” 

“If you even give me a challenge, you may consider it your win in becoming a worthy adversary.”

“And a worthy adversary is a worthy ally.”

“In your case, Thundercracker. You really do remind me of Pata.”

“What was his name? I want to know.”

“You of all mechs should know his name, TC,” Starscream said, using Skywarp's nickname for him.


	29. Rainmakers

'Wake up, Cid,' the comm message, including overly-familiar use of nickname, displayed in virtual, green Cybertronian characters against the darkness of his perception; his processor was still in soft-boot from recharge. As Acid Storm came fully back online, he noted the queue of incoming comms and the time-code on his chronometer.

He replied to the earlier messages first, meaning to throttle the Battlechargers if this all turned out to be yet another non-emergency, like a brutal wreck on the street below, or wicked new 'pleasure toy' applications for a friction rifle. 'Runabout, please be able to tell me you are not waking me for-'

'Storm Cloud swears he has seen Starscream.'

This was very likely another non-emergency, Acid Storm thought. Nightly, their establishment witnessed such rumors. Some infamous and/or high-ranking Decepticon, or else a fairly recognizable Autobot, had recently been spotted, or was claimed to be deactivated, or had been brought back from the Well of All Sparks.

Also, Storm Cloud was a loud-mouthed idiot.

“You woke me for that? I finally get some recharge...I'm meant to play happy host again in mere cycles...I want to fly!”

Runabout, downstairs setting-up for the evening re-fuel rush, pleaded silently with his brother. Acid Storm was a smart mech; they'd pick him to be on the winning side, or if not, most definitely a survivor, sooner than they would Starscream himself. They could usually count on Acid Storm to lead them in the right direction, and not to be too strict given that control, that was, unless he was recharge deprived.

'Get your green aft down here and fuel-up!' Runamuck commed, using the same scheme. 'Starscream or not, there's a whole lot of jets shredding sky and none of us can really tell them apart.'

A little more alert, Acid Storm reached out his sensors and took in his surroundings. There were some blips, but those he detected came with correspondingly familiar energy signatures; none Starscream's. He slipped from his berth, high on the wall of his modest rest chamber and commed to Barricade. 'I am online. You have a visual? Show me.'

The video streamed to him even as Barricade responded, 'I think it is really him, Cid. Did you see, yet?' He was standing outside on the skywalk that connected the buildings, at a level the grounded did not fear too high and the fliers did not deign too low beneath them. 'The Smoke-wings are with them, but there's got to be at least two full trines up there. Whisper's patrol already went after them.'

Barricade did not really understand the jargon he was using in claiming to see trines, but between the description and the video, Acid Storm understood his meaning. And, he could hear them.

A jet knew the sound of jets flying in atmosphere, and a Seeker knew the sound of Seekers. This composition was not stealthy approach or attack, it was: demonstration, display, dance. The booms, whines and rumbles were invitation to those who understood. It made Acid Storm's spark spin and his joints lube in anticipation of action.

'Runabout, I need two cubes premium grade straight up, on the roof, a klik ago!'

'On it!'

'Is it Starscream?' Barricade commed. True as it was that there were always rumors, lately Starscream had featured in more than his usual hefty share. He had, variously: found the AllSpark, killed Megatron, been killed by Megatron, been resurrected, had a bounty put on his head by Megatron, had the bounty claimed, been blown up, probably resurrected again, had the bounty on his head raised considerably, possibly cloned himself, been killed by Megatron again, been possessed by the AllSpark, lost his head, taken some kind of pleasure trip about the galaxy with Megatron, merged with the AllSpark, resurrected again, and had some ancient rite of breeding claim invoked upon him.

Strange as it was, Acid Storm was going with the 'stranger than fiction' theory and believing most of these rumors were well founded. Megatron and Starscream attempting to kill each other, yet surviving, was not new. Clones would explain a few things, including some recent rumors from agents on Cybertron. And, Acid Storm knew for fact that a claimant had called out for worthy challengers or thirds; he had received and understood that message. 

Acid Storm left his chamber and watched the video overlayed with his vision as he went to the turbolift. One of the seekers Barricade had spotted was yellow. For a brief interval of time, Acid Storm believed it was Dreadwind. 'You didn't tell me one was yellow.'

Silence, then, 'I didn't notice.'

'I will find if Starscream is among them,' Acid Storm commed. He could feel Overcast taking notice of his thoughts, and could sense the quick suppression of idle hope. They shared the consciousness that there were too few Seekers as it was, and they had lost their yellow wing-mate too recently to not be spooked by one even remotely similar in appearance.

But, that was personal. If Starscream were here, that meant something to Acid Storm, and Overcast as well, for they had both know him since they were young mechs on Cybertron. Yet, it meant much to Decepticons in general, if the frequent featured player in their rumor mill was truly with them now.

The gleefully confusing thing about the jets above New Kaon was that though they had different colors – Acid Storm optical processing corrected for the cool cast of their star - all the Seekers there could pass as Starscream. Acid Storm had seen Starscream fly, had flown on his wing before. The flight style of these others certainly argued for the cloning rumors; they flew like him. Acid Storm needed to learn if the original was among them.

Runabout rushed up onto the roof not half a klik after Acid Storm, and he had needed to prepare the energon and get to the roof from a much lower level. Acid Storm was pleased. He took the first cube and downed it quickly.

They were calling, daring others to join them. Such an entrance into New Kaon did smack of Starscream's dramatic flair. Acid Storm saw local refugee Decepticons already taking to the sky in excited curiosity, territorial display, or hopeful welcome: Cyberjets, Skyscorchers, Predators, Assaults & Aces, Air Strike Patrol. It was a bit of an embarrassment that no local Seekers already welcomed them, but there were only two fully fledged Seekers in New Kaon, and Overcast's lab was some distance from the settlement, for safety reasons.

If Starscream was not among them, this arrival was still extraordinary. Seven Seekers – surviving and unknown to Acid Storm – this was just the type of information Acid Storm made it his business to know.

“Hold on to that second cube for me,” Acid Storm said. “I'm going up now.”

Acid Storm jumped from the roof of the tall building, dropped, transformed, and then fired thrusters to climb. Runabout was left on the roof, watching, and Barricade, doing the same, from the skywalk. Acid Storm shut down the stream of video as he saw himself through Barricade's vision.

Acid Storm was one of the last jets to join the dance. He noted Storm Cloud's curvaceous, black fighter alt-mode climbing behind him, and then Smokejumper and Dreadwing in their combined form of wide, low-profile olive drab stealth bomber, coming from the direction of the port. As he climbed. Acid Storm also registered a trailing copter with urban camo deco. The roofs were filling with grounders interested in the newcomers, but unable to join the dance.

Acid Storm flew across the path of Falcon and three other jets of his Predator team, who seemed to be flying a perimeter patrol, watching the dance, display and mock battle, yet not actively participating. Acid Storm suspected, and was justified by his sensor sweep that that their teammate, Skyquake, would be defending his status and territory, as one of New Kaon's higher ranking fliers. The brilliantly painted spy plane was high above, challenging those who sought to fly any higher.

The loud metal-warping crush of collision drew Acid Storm's attention aside. He saw Space Case fall, transform, and descend injured below the roof-line. Windrazor, leader of the Skyscorcher team, rushed to challenge the white Seeker who had survived the collision with the fallen Cyberjet.

Where was Starscream? Acid Storm considered his sensor readings; he prided himself on his ability to collect data, through sensory and surveillance gear as well as well-placed social queries. There were many jets flying today, and he could be in a collision himself, if not careful. That the Seeker newcomers seemed to have dampening that evaded even his sensor network was dangerous as well as frustrating. 

He was forced to rely largely on visual confirmation. There, Acid Storm thought; a silver Seeker was flying fast toward another with royal blue color. Acid Storm made his approach and was quickly intercepted by two other Seekers, who fell into escort position off each of his wings. They pinged and flashed until Acid Storm sent out his communication scheme. 

'You are designated Acid Storm. Correct?' the aqua Seeker on his right flashed.

Acid Storm confirmed.

'My designation is Slipstream, Commander Slipstream. That is Commander Skywarp on your left. We acknowledge you are known to our Liege, Starscream, but we may not permit you to interfere with his current duel.'

'Try to stop me!' Acid Storm flashed back. This, he thought, was going to be fun. It had been too long since he had other Seekers to play with. Overcast did nothing but hide in his lab and seemed to no longer take joy in the sky.

Acid Storm accelerated away, attempting to reach the Seeker was now certain was Starscream, but Slipstream and Skywarp were effective in keeping him away. One would pursue while the other got ahead of his position to block his progress and steer him toward another vector. It was easy for them, working together, because Slipstream was fast and maneuverable enough to either pursue or pull ahead, and Skywarp was nearly as fast and maneuverable, but also capable of disappearing even from optical sensors and reappearing in a new location.

Acid Storm enjoyed the challenge. The two Commanders seemed well versed in such Seeker play, putting Acid Storm in their target lock, but never firing when in lock. They moved well together, in sync as much as a service bonded pair or perhaps even a fully bonded couple or trine. Acid Storm could not tell at their current distance if they were bonded, but he thought that if the cloning rumors were true, then being cloned from the same template could give them an inherent advantage in synchronization.

Acid Storm stopped evading and took position on Skywarp 's left wing. Slipstream fell in on Skywarp's right.

'That was fun,' Skywarp flashed, 'I was really afraid you were going to ram me a few times.'

'And wreck my frame? I do not know how that white Seeker does it.'

'That's Ramjet,' Slipstream said, 'it's kind of his thing...or one of them.'

Acid Storm no longer had Ramjet on sensors. He did not want to ask about the yellow one, who was playfully baiting the bombers. There was a gold-winged blue Seeker chasing Whisper's patrol, forcing them down to the deck, little by little, as if he owned the sky.

'May I know why your Liege duels the other Seeker?' Acid Storm asked his current wingmates.

'That is Thundercracker, our leader,' Skywarp offered.

'TC just wants to know where he stands with Starscream,' Slipstream explained, 'they can work together more easily if they understand who is better at what, and how much a challenge they can provide each other.'

The duel was fascinating to behold. Thundercracker had powerful acceleration going for him, which allowed him to match Starscream's speed over short distances. His engines were tuned to translate his power into deafening sonic booms and even directional sonic attacks. However, Starscream had ability to maintain high speed over long distances and uncanny agility.

They chased each other, one after the other, until the one in the lead reversed course to fly at the other. It was a duel of wills then, to see which might peel away from the other, or how close they could fly to the other without taking damage. Then, the one who was able to position themselves on the other's tail gave chase, and the process was repeated.

The duel seemed concluded. Thundercracker was a powerful challenger, but Starscream had the agility to consistently perform evasive maneuvers when being pursued, as well as to quickly reverse course. It was like watching a bullbot charge a turbofox: Thundercracker was fast over short distances and direct line-of-sight vectors, but Starscream could literally fly circles about him.

Thundercracker pulled out of the duel and descended to put himself just above Skywarp and the two Seekers on his wings. Skywarp wiggled his elevators and rose to take formation at Thundercracker's right wing.

Acid Storm took this as a signal to approach Starscream. He climbed to the silver Seeker's position tipped his wing as he made a pass opposite Starscream's course, to announce himself, and then pulled back around to fly a spiraling roll around Starscream. Starscream matched the spiral and the two climbed and twisted about each other in a dance. Starscream was as amazing a flier as Acid Storm remembered.

Acid Storm then noticed Slipstream tailing Starscream, closely.

Starscream commed on the old scheme they used to share with each other. 'I promised someone else a dance,' he said.

'You will fill me in later.'

'I promise,' Starscream commed, 'You have a place here?'

Acid Storm flashed the coordinates. He did not leave the area, but smoothly banked away to watch the dance, without getting in their way.

Slipstream and Starscream did not duel in the manner Thundercracker had, but flew a series of pursuits, interspersed with interludes of complicated partner maneuvers. By Acid Storm's observations, they were well in sync, at least as much as Slipstream had been with Skywarp. Cloning aside, that level of synchronization usually came with a bond, and to see it in non-bonded Seekers usually meant they had the compatibility to be potential mates or trine, though a trine by its definition required a third. Even if the third was missing, or lost, or yet to be found, there was always a third.

Acid Storm was certain Slipstream was the claimant. Even if ancient, and rarely invoked, the rite made sense. Starscream was nigh eligible and if Slipstream was his clone, they had desirable codes, but lacked diversity the future of their kind required. They needed to advertise for challengers or thirds to assure the best came to them, even if over a great distance. Starscream needed the best. Acid Storm did not know if Slipstream was one of the best, but Starscream deserved to learn the truth of that from willing challengers.

Acid Storm had thought he was for Starscream once, but that was before he realized Overcast and Dreadwind were for him.

Acid Storm saw Slipstream falter. He did not know if her thrusters had stalled, or what other cause there might be, but she was falling in a spin. He dove toward her, even as Starscream did the same. Slipstream transformed and angled her arms, wings, and the tail fins on her legs to steer her descent and stop spinning, but, she still fell without thrust or lift.

Starscream sped past her, accelerating into his dive. He transformed, and caught her by the arm, nearly ripping it out. Acid Storm transformed and flew toward them. Starscream fired his thrusters at maximum to slow their descent, but Acid Storm could see he was moving too fast to land lightly. Slipstream tumbled onto the roof as Starscream landed hard on one leg, and then quickly dropped to his knees. That camo-deco chopper came toward them and transformed, as Acid Storm alighted on the same roof. Acid Storm was fairly certain the twirly-bird, as his kind were sometimes less-than-affectionately called, was Vortex, a Decepticon mercenary.

“Is she all right?” Vortex asked.

“Redlining,” Slipstream whispered.

“Idiot,” Starscream hissed.

Slipstream managed a crawl toward Starscream.

Acid Storm could perceive Starscream was not speaking in anger, but in substantial pain. He bent and looked to Starscream's left leg.

“Don't touch it!” Starscream rasped, “I bent a strut, it's pressing against the inside of the armor.”

Slipstream swayed and then collapsed onto her back. “I can transport her,” Vortex offered, “I'm not made to carry more than one full-size 'Con, but she should just fit.”

“Why does being with her always result in me being injured?”

Acid Storm laughed kindly. Maybe this aqua-colored femme was the one for Starscream; in Acid Storm's experience, one often did stupid things for love, including some things that ended in stasis or injury. “You can come to my place for now,” Acid Storm offered. “Vortex, if you are willing to transport Slipstream, I can allow Starscream to use me.”

Vortex transformed again. Though it clearly pained him, Starscream lifted Slipstream into the chopper's interior. “No wild rides or funny stuff.”

“Not with such precious cargo,” Vortex said with a hint of madness that made Acid Storm and Starscream both cringe with suspicion.

“Follow us in,” Acid Storm said. He put himself against Starscream's left side and they flew to the roof of his building, which was not very far away, considering much of the flying had been flying back and forth. The starlight was dying as they landed, which meant Acid Storm had to work soon.

Runabout was still on the roof, when Acid Storm arrived. He had been told to hold onto the second cube, but he could have done that downstairs, while setting up for the night's business. However, in the present circumstances, it was fortunate he had stayed.

Runabout stood gawking at Starscream, seeming to disbelieve he was among them.

Starscream gave Runabout a nod and the small acknowledgement caused the Battlecharger to stand at attention. 

“Lord Starscream will have a report of your actions,” Acid Storm said authoritatively, “for now, see to the Seeker there. She's fallen into stasis from lack of fuel.”

“We have a supply in our cargo,” Starscream said, possibly needing to save face. He likely did not want to be seen as a leader who could not provide for his followers. “She merely over-exerted herself.”

“No grabby hands, grounder, just help her out,” Vortex warned.

“I do not take orders from you, crazy merc!”

“Play nice,” Acid Storm called, “bring her inside.” For his part, Acid Storm helped Starscream walk to the lift. They descended first, so there would be room for the other three to follow after them.

“You've kept the Battlechargers in your service?”

“It is safe to speak here, though not in the public areas downstairs,” Acid Storm said, “We are loyal to you, still, My Lord. Barricade as well.”

Starscream huffed. “Can never be sure about Cade, except that we can trust any betrayal would not be out of allegiance to an enemy, but simply for his own amusement.”

“I keep him amused with requests to befriend others, get information and then betray them to me.”

“It is good to see you again.” Starscream turned to touch there helms together. “I heard about Dreadwind in only lately and in transit. I did not think a comm would suffice. I grieve with you. I cannot know your pain.”

Acid Storm put his free hand to Starscream's right shoulder and embraced him. “I know you have felt your own sparkache. I will not lie; it was one of the most painful things I ever experienced, but we survived the loss. I do not regret surviving.”

“I have so much to tell you.”

“And as usual, I have reports waiting for your review.” Acid Storm felt Starcream's claws stroke his faceplate. Starscream straightened, swayed just slightly, balanced on his good leg. He smiled on Acid Storm, and then Acid Storm realized he had not seen Starscream smile like this in ages. Snarls and sneers and wicked smirk, but not this. “You really do have a lot to tell me!”

The turbolift stopped on the level where Acid Storm kept his own modest quarters. He helped Starscream walk from the lift. The corridor was narrow by the standards of Seeker-builds, but still traversable by winged mechanisms. There was a likewise narrow window at the end of the curved corridor, with a view of a spired tower, and then doors leading to various chambers.

“I suspect I am keeping you from your cover.”

“It is nothing.” Acid Storm paused. “We should probably play things the way we used to. If there is someone whose reputation you wish to protect, we could always pretend I am looking to be your third.”

“I will explain to her. Better to say you are a jealous challenger who wants me for his own trine.”

Though he knew it for intrigue, Acid Storm was still flattered Starscream would even mention such a possibility. “What's your yellow one's designation?”

“Sunstorm.”

“It has a nice sound. It is not a designation I recognize. Do they know they have namesakes among Seeker-kind?”

“Some of them. 'Sunstorm' is original to my clone.”

They were nearly to Acid Storm's chamber.

“Thundercracker is coming,” Starscream explained the awkward silence. “I told him to take care of finding quarters, but do you have recommendations?”

“There is one conspicuous vacancy in New Kaon,” Acid Storm said carefully.

Starscream guessed. “The command quarters?”

“The Honorable Governor keeps his own residence away from the rank and file and no one here has attempted to claim the quarters, probably fearing challenge.”

“Perfect,” Starscream said, smirking that familiar smirk. He was quiet, coming Thundercracker, if not others among his followers.

“I think you are going into shock,” Acid Storm whispered.

“Yes, I should not be able to be so delighted. It doesn't hurt anymore.”

Acid Storm nodded. “I should tell you,” he started, wondering how to break the news, before opening the door.

“I do not wish to impose. I just need to heat this strut. If Thundercracker does take the command quarters, I can go there.”

“No! That is, My Lord, there's nothing I would deny you...there's nothing bad...it's just...well, you will see.” Acid Storm opened the door and they were barraged with tiny missiles.

Starscream swatted at the juvenile armament and took note of the small and territorial Decepticon in Acid Storm's chamber. “I dared not hope to see one again,” he whispered.

Acid Storm spoke to the sparkling. “Stand down, Seeker! This is Lord Starscream you just fired upon!”

“I will rule!” his offspring said defiantly, in static-laced juvenile Decepticon, “Time makes all things possible!”

Starscream hovered toward the sparkling and lifted him by the seam between wings and neck. He held the little blue and green sparkling at eye level and gave him a serious look. “Nice clustering,” he said, waving a claw at the light smudges on his armor, left by the training missiles.

The sparkling hung limply, staring back at Starscream with wide red optics.

“Designation and function.”

“Drench,” said Drench, “condensation.” He lifted his hand and in short time, vapor in the air condensed and formed droplets on his silver claws.

Acid Storm watched as Starscream pulled Drench in toward his chest and hugged him to his cockpit canopy. “A regular Rainmaker,” he whispered, “He's perfect, Acid Storm. He's perfect. And, so unbelievably cute!” Drench giggled as Starscream tickled his chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suppose it's arguable that Drench is an 'original character', but I prefer to think of him more as an amalgam of existing Transformer's characters, some of whom are named Drench, or Deluge, have water-related abilities, have green and blue coloring, and may or may not count as Seekers (like being evil autobot cars).


	30. 'Ships in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate the velvet rope scene to [hellkitty](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty), as well as too the TF Rare Pairing community on LJ for introducing me to Barricade/Skywarp.
> 
> Also some bad puns, and "can I do less?"

Thundercracker stroked his be-striped chin as he surveyed his new view. The command quarters of Darkspire were suitably regal and dominated the landscape with wide views of the sky and refugee-founded Decepticon city-state. It was not what he wanted for his permanent residence – he did not love New Kaon or being at the outer rim of the galaxy – but it was most adequate as a temporary base of operations.

Of course, Skywarp had quickly selected the best of the available chambers for their stay. He truly was indispensable. Darkspire had plenty of other chambers designed for trusted lieutenants and even some designed for servers to the leader, so that their growing entourage had room to stay. If there was one thing at which the Decepticon Army excelled – it had not proven to be defeating Autobots – it was quickly constructing military bases or cities out of salvaged materials.

All personnel had some expertise that went into engineering efforts. Starscream's skill, for example, was materials analysis, while Vortex used adhesives to aid construction. Thundercracker had not yet had need to demonstrate his skills, but they probably related to determining what colors were suitably regal and representative of their cause. Or maybe demolition. He might like to try using sonics in demolition. 

A car lit by red and white lights flew past Thundercracker's view. He did a double-take, not quite believing what he had seen, and pressed against the glass in attempt to continue tracking. As Thundercracker watched, the expanse of glass vibrated with an audible hum as a burgundy-winged white jet flew past in the direction opposite the car – the flying car!

“Did you see them?” Skywarp asked excitedly as he rushed back into their chamber.

“Ramjet,” Thundercracker growled, taking a step back from the window. Just when his brother was starting to seem responsible...he was buzzing the command quarters!

“It's true! She really does it. Red Alert is a flier!”

“Yes, clearly,” Thundercracker said, forcing calm. He saw the white car and jet make another pass, this time traveling in the same direction. It looked like Ramjet was trying to get beneath Red Alert so she could attempt to land on his dorsal side. “They had better not hit the tower.”

“I am sure RJ can survive the collision.”

“I am worried about Darkspire,” Thundercracker said and then thought better of himself, “not that I actually feel anxiety over it. It was just a figure of speech.”

“Everything will be all right, Sir, I mean, Thundercracker,” Skywarp said pleasantly. Thundercracker saw his smile reflected in the glass. “I had a comm from Slipstream. She and Starscream were separated for a short while, so she was not certain how much he told you. She said she is well and in Acid Storm's place called The Bird Cage. Apparently our Liege suggests strongly that we visit in order to 'keep up appearances'.”

“Suggests strongly,” Thundercracker repeated to himself. Not ordered. He had to acknowledge Starscream outmaneuvered him in the air, though he would not be announcing this publicly any time soon. He still maintained conviction that he could beat Starscream on the ground, claw-to-claw as it were, though it had not been tested. He was not willing to allow Starscream to socially or politically outmaneuver him with intrigue, secret comm messages and suggestions. “If we go, it will not be based solely upon his suggestion.”

“I concur,” Skywarp said.

“There was something, Skywarp.”

“Yes, Sir?”

Ramjet burst into the room before Thundercracker had a chance to continue; thankfully he did not knock the door from its frame. “Red and me are totally breaking up!”

“Oh! Congratulation, RJ!” Skywarp said happily.

“I am not asking permission,” Ramjet said with irritation.

“Well, you have it,” Thundercracker said, still keeping his back to the room. “I am certain our Liege would approve, and for myself, I see no wrong in it.”

Ramjet spoke out confidently then, “The vows will be private, maybe one or two witnesses for formality's sake, but, as Morale Officer, I decree there shall be festivities afterward in our honor, with music and dancing and decorations. Gifts are optional, but appreciated!”

“Excellent idea, Ramjet,” Skywarp told him, “I am sure Sunstorm will agree. Let him know I approve a fair expenditure for the party. I am very happy for you; I know Thundercracker is, too.” Skywarp looked happy, Thundercracker thought, like there was not one scary thing about parties or vows or bonding oneself to another for the entirety of your lives...or anything that came after that.

“Well, enjoy your view,” Ramjet said as he left.

The door was closed, again, and Thundercracker saw Skywarp look to him via the reflective surface of the nighttime view. “We do have a nice view.”

“Yes. Beautiful.”

“And you all think me coy?” Skywarp teased. He walked up to Thundercracker and stopped beside him. “Did you have need of anything? Before Ramjet interrupted?”

There were actually two things Thundercracker had intended to discuss with Skywarp, but he decided to give priority to the more imminent need. “Yes.”

“Are we playing a guessing game?”

“No.” They both sincerely liked games and a broad variety of them. Thundercracker supposed he enjoyed challenge, strategy and competition; it was fitting for one who was a leader among a militaristic society. It could all be said to be a form of training. Skywarp did not shy from competition, as some might assume, but he was more intrigued by single-player puzzle games than Thundercracker. For either, playing could be social activity.

“Does it have to do with our strategy?” Skywarp asked, guessing anyway.

“I was merely composing my thoughts before speaking.”

“Quite wise, Sir.”

“I could just decide myself, but I would like to have your input on something. You are 2IC, and I value your opinions.”

“I am here for you, Thundercracker, always.”

Thundercracker gave a nod. “How should we appear to other Decepticons, or Imperials for that matter?”

“In the briefing, you encouraged us to socialize with other Decepticons, to learn from them, to determine who may be a worthy recruit and who a potential enemy. You said you agreed with Starscream's advice in being cautious with Imperials, yet not openly opposed to them at this time. Did I assume wrongly? You intended for you and I also to take this action? To socialize and interact?”

“Your assumption, or conclusion, is correct. Yet, I wish to know how you and I, specifically, should appear. Is there advantage or disadvantage that I do not see?” He was superior, yet sometimes, he felt as if there was a punchline others understood and he did not. Thundercracker left the window, paced across the yet unfamiliar chamber and glared at the large recharge berth. “I hate all this furniture! It is not worthy!”

A private comm came from Skywarp, though he was only a short distance away. 'Demand I show you.'

“I demand you show me how we should appear!”

“Of course, if you would permit me to touch your person,” Skywarp said, following Thundercracker across the room.

“If I demand demonstration, it should not be necessary for you to ask again.” 

“So, by way of demonstration, I would not do this in public,” Skywarp said, running his claws all over the back of Thundercracker's left wing.

It made Thundercracker shiver. Skywarp felt so playful! Definitely not in public. “That would be inappropriate, Commander.”

“Yes, we should be subtle.” Skywarp put himself in front of Thundercracker and bowed his head. “You should make appropriately possessive gestures to communicate no one need ask silly questions like 'what armada?' It should at all times be clear that I am at your service and command.” Skywarp lifted Thundercracker's right hand between the two of his and placed Thundercracker's claws beneath his chin. “Lift here.”

Thundercracker lifted and saw Skywarp's face rise, and their optics met. Thundercracker felt...dazzled.

“If I cower, or if you simply wish to look on me, put your claws to the underside of my chin and bring my face to meet yours. Communicate to anyone who is watching that I am yours to control, and that you will suffer no weak subordinates, because you Mighty Thundercracker, are just that strong.”

“Yes. I am.”

Skywarp smiled. “Send me before you to announce you in a crowd; I will not be afraid if you are behind me. And if you have arrived, and grant someone and audience, put me a step behind to watch your back. If offered a seat, or invited to another chamber, assume I am invited. I will stand as you sit, if you wish it, but if that is not to your liking, refuse to take a seat until one is brought for me. Then, with me seated to your right, put your hand to me in seemingly idle fashion, even as you conduct your business. Like this....” Skywarp took Thundercracker's hand in his again and moved it onto his left wing.

“Subtle.”

“Yes, not wide swipes. Subtle. Short movements of your claws, yet in plain sight, to let them know.”

“And?”

Skywarp nodded. “It feels nice, Thundercracker.” He leaned in toward Thundercracker a little more.

It did. “The demonstration.”

Another nod, sharp. “If another attempts to touch me in this way, the way you are permitted, you must quickly take offense. I am yours to command, of course, but your dear and your precious, not some cheap trinket you may offer to others.”

“I would never presume so,” Thundercracker promised. On his own, he took his claws from Skywarp's wing and put them to his lavender-tinted faceplate.

“If anyone should try to lay their hand or arm or tentacle,” Skywarp shivered slightly, “across here, where my spark is placed, take offense also to that. And, Thundercracker, if anyone presumes to do the same to you, and I have not witnessed you grant them permission, you must allow me to take offense and confront them directly!”

“I will allow it,” Thundercracker said, “You have made promises to me.” Thundercracker lowered his claws to Skywarp's chest, just above his canopy. He felt something – an awareness of movement.

“Yes, to protect you, unless you ever wish to release me from a promise by letting me know you have granted one permission.” He did not say the words, but having contact with his shell and spark-energy-field, Thundercracker sensed Skywarp desired to be released.

“Not yet, but, Dear Skywarp, I will let you know.”

“I have made other promises.”

“I do recall. I also have. I fully meant my vow that you would remain at my side.”

“And I fully meant my vow to stay. Of course, you realize that some would consider that makes me your consort. It is not so intimate or widely-recognized as bonding sparks, but it is nevertheless a legal union.”

“I shall neither confirm nor deny the existence of such a union in public.”

“Oh, I fully understand,” Skywarp said, “they are not worthy to know the details of any relationships you may or may not have. They are not privileged to such intimacies. Not to be taken into the very bosom of your confidence. Not like I.” Such a bold statement from the coward; Thundercracker was proud.

“Not like you, My Consort,” Thundercracker acknowledged.

Skywarp's smile was perfection. 

“You may comm Slipstream and inform her we will make a brief appearance at this Bird Cage,” Thundercracker said.

When Slipstream received the comm, she had just slipped out the service entrance to get some fresh air. It seemed a luxury to be on a planet with atmosphere. On Earth, she had taken such things for granted.

'Sunstorm and Starscream are inside,' Slipstream told Skywarp, 'Red Alert commed Starscream earlier. Did they tell you, yet?'

'Vows?'

'And they plan on bonding. Not only vows, but bonding their very sparks.'

'Yes, it is not so uncommon for Autobots, especially as they do not consider themselves to be in “war time”. Ramjet told us. Celebration sometime afterward.'

'Yes,' Slipstream agreed. Skywarp had already heard more about it than she had. 'Red and Ramjet are expected here, but I suppose they will not stay long, as they are planning their ceremony. Dirge is here, somewhere. I was actually just looking for him.'

'We will be there shortly,' Skywarp said and signed off.

Slipstream continued walking around the building, on the skywalk. She found Dirge was at the corner of the building, within view of the queue at the front entrance, with his legs dangling toward the streets below. “Are you coming in, Dirge?” she asked.

“I might go down there.”

“I don't think fliers go down there, I am not certain they are even allowed.”

“I saw Decepticons with ground alt-modes up here.”

“They were vouched for. It is not my policy, mind you, I am just stating my observations. The socializing seems rather segregated here.”

“Maybe nucleon is a good idea,” Dirge said, “I hear it sometimes removes ability to transform into any alt-mode.”

Slipstream moved closer and smacked Dirge against the side of his helm. “Do not say such things! Do not even joke about it. Nucleon is a controlled substance with reason. It's effects are unpredictable. I know you feel greed sometimes, but I would expect you to use your thirst for knowledge to advantage and inform yourself of the very real risk. I hope you would be smart and decide against experimenting.”

“I was not really going to,” Dirge said, “It was just a passing, morbid thought. I do not like this segregation. I really thought Autobots the ones with prejudices against fliers, and even they are trying to get over it.”

“Most of these Decepticons do believe in personal freedoms, Dirge. We only just arrived. I saw no evidence of strong prejudice, except that in this evening refueling there is segregation. For all I know, the grounders need different fuels and fluids to function.”

“Many fluids are interchangeable, but not all.” 

“It's really about Swindle,” Slipstream said with a sigh, “I did not think either of you were so serious.”

“If I had gone after him, before, it would not have seemed wrong or unusual at all. He's my friend. It doesn't have to be spying or stalking, now. Just because we-”

“I dare not even imagine,” Slipstream interrupted, neatly avoiding that subject of conversation. “Did someone say they thought you were stalking?”

“It was insinuated. But, how is anyone else to know? What if I really did just want to go, separately, to the same location? That's understandable. I might want to go meet someone new. Maybe I just think grounders interesting.”

“Yes, but do you really, Dirge, or are you just rationalizing your jealous, greedy urge to keep your friend with the rare purple eyes all to yourself?”

“He is mine,” Dirge said, “It has simply been made clear he will not be only mine.”

“But you are going to stalk him anyway?”

“It's not stalking! Well, maybe a little, but what's so wrong with stalking? It's usually considered an advantageous skill and practice among Decepticons. What difference does it make that I am not at present stalking an Autobot to crush their spark? I can stalk my quarry so much and so long as I desire! Who is going to stop me?”

“Whatever! Just be certain he does not have any stronger or more heavily armed 'friends' about.”

“I could scare them off.”

“You won't,” Slipstream said. “Dirge, if you believed you were so righteous in stalking Swindle, you would be down there already. You are smart. Think about it. Don't get so emotional that you fail.” It was their common curse. “You must actually want Swindle to choose to be near you.”

“But meanwhile, I might want someone else, and maybe they are down there, where Swindle happened to go.”

This was becoming circular logic. “Then go, just do be careful, Dirge.”

“I am still deciding what I want most,” Dirge said sulkily.

Or don't, Slipstream thought to herself, it was not as if she had been the one advocating promiscuous pleasure-seeking. She was going crazy with just the one. “I'm going back inside.”

Dirge looked toward the front of the building where a queue of Decepticons, interspersed with a minority of other mechanisms and alien lifeforms vied for admittance to the popular nighttime refueling location. Red Alert was standing in the line, looking a little nervous and twitchy without Ramjet beside her. Dirge wondered if Barricade would let her in alone.

Ultimately, Dirge decided he was not greedy enough to want to make that his business, and he dropped from the skywalk.

Red Alert, sensors at their maximum range and sensitivity, noted Dirge's descent. There were some leering fliers behind her and a big purple and grey 'Con with a truck alt in front of her. The ones behind seemed to be murmuring their speculation on what an Autobot was doing in New Kaon alone and unchallenged.

“You have to let me in, Cade!” The big truck said. Red Alert thought him suspicious, because she had always been instructed that Decepticons preferred military alt-modes, being so-called war-builds. The exceptions were usually types of fast cars, boats and small jets that private security forces or underworld organizations would employ for smuggling and getaways. The large truck just seemed conspicuous. Or, possibly specifically designed, like their own Jet Twins, to battle the enemy. Many Autobots who became successful military leaders did have truck alt-modes.

“Do not shorten my designation as if you were anyone so familiar with me, Motormaster” The bouncer threatened. The Black and white 'Con guarding the door was fairly small for a Decepticon. To Red Alert, he looked a little like an Autotrooper gone bad, with a deco that was more black than white, Decepticon brands, and markings of a member of a local security force.

“But Breakdown is in there!” Motormaster wheedled in his booming voice.

“I don't care if your motherboard is inside,” Cade said firmly, as spindly interrogation devices deployed slowly from his chest and shoulders, “I do not comment on clientele. If your intended-”

“He's not my intended!” Motormaster boomed. “My little teammates need me! Don't you understand? They should not run off by themselves. I can't let some jets have their way with them.”

“What's that about jets?” one of the fliers behind called.

“Barricade, bounce this fool!” another demanded.

“You, you, go ahead in,” Barricade said, pointing to those who had called out. He unfastened the rope blocking the entrance, to allow the two entry.

Motormaster was outraged. “You let Stalker in?”

“He's ground support for the Predators and Falcon vouches for him. I told you before, if any of your little stunt-driving friends were inside, it would be because they were vouched for, and since none of them is waiting at the door to vouch for you, I can only assume that if they were inside, they would not be pleased to see you.”

Motormaster stepped aside.

“Red Alert?” Barricade asked.

“What do you want? Who told you my designation?” Red Alert demanded. Her siren sounded once, against her will.

“You are on the guest list. You can go ahead inside.”

Motormaster turned back. Red Alert saw his optics flare. She did not know what he really saw – an Autobot, a femme, a grounder allowed to enter where he was not, or a white sports model with red markings – but she understood his rage had transferred to her. Her siren wooped again and when Motormaster came fist-first toward her, Red Alert did not think, but drew instinctively on her security team training and used the larger mechanism's momentum against him, as she placed herself beneath him as a fulcrum and flipped him over her head.

The Decepticons in the queue were shocked. They all thought Motormaster mad, possessive of his teammates and a frequent source of disturbance at the door, but they had not thrown him from the skywalk. Red Alert was just as shocked. She had not intended serious injury.

There was a BAMF sound from the midst of the crowd, and then millicycles later a brief flash of energy that cast those near the entrance in an eerie light; Skywarp stood suddenly beside Barricade, with Motormaster cringing at his feet. Another millicycle and Thundercracker appeared hovering above on his primary thrusters. “We would not want you to suffer guilt over causing unintended harm, Doctor,” Thundercracker said in his imperious tone.

“Go inside, Autobot,” Barricade warned. The rope was lifted away.

Red Alert went in through the doors. When she had gone, Thundercracker spoke to the others. “Is this the sad state of the Decepticon Army? Not one of you as brave as that little Autobot femme? How many of you would be so brave to go alone with a group of Autobots to Cybertron? And non of you so brave or honorable a warrior enough to step in when you see another unjustly preying on one who so small and lightly armed?”

“Red Alert is a personal friend of Lord Starscream Liege Null and intended and promised mate of our brother Seeker,” Skywarp said, “So this is completely intentional!” Skywarp bent and shoved at Motormaster, pushing him from the skywalk. This time, he did not teleport to save the mech from hitting the roadway below.

“Why should any of us offer a servo to help an Autobot?” Windrazor asked. He was among those jets who had challenged Ramjet in the air and lost.

“And since when should we care about honor?” asked Nightflight, one of Whisper's patrol.

“And just who are you to us?” Skyquake asked, “Some newcomer who thinks he's worthy to inhabit the command quarters?”

“I am Thundercracker, glitch!” Thundercracker bellowed, “and it is because you have no sense of honor in fighting for the cause in which you claim to believe and no loyalty to anyone that you lose! I do not see that any of you assumed the command quarters as your own. If you wish to challenge me, then do so, but I warn you, I learned all I know of treachery and command from watching Megatron and Starscream.”

“And he happens to have a loyal Second-in Command,” Skywarp called out, “Stand down, Hooligan! I see what you are at and I can get there before you can fire!”

The jet in animal print deco, hanging from the facade of the building, in position to fire on Thundercracker's flank, lowered his weapon. “I was just having some fun.”

“Commander.”

“Was just having fun, Commander,” Hooligan said as he dropped to the walk.

“It was a good try,” Skywarp said, “showed initiative and stealth, and maybe even bravery. Come inside; I'll buy you a drink.”

“Yes, Sir!” Hooligan agreed.

“I say who goes inside!” Barricade insisted. “On Acid Storm's orders!”

Skywarp ushered Hooligan inside. He saw that Thundercracker descended to cover him from the doorway. Skywarp turned slightly to look on Barricade. He raised a claw and ran it lightly over the intimidating tire spokes. “Maybe you would like me to restrain you with velvet rope?” Skywarp whispered.

“Yes – No! No, Commander. Go right in. I'm certain Acid Storm would not deny a fellow Seeker.”

“As you were, Barricade. Keep up the good work.”

Inside, Red Alert kept her limbs drawn in and her sensor net extended, wary of the crowd of Decepticons. She was no longer certain how she had been convinced to go ahead alone; she did remember Ramjet saying he needed time alone to get her a gift. The interior was quite different than she had imagined. Perhaps it was prejudice, but she had expected something grimy and dark.

The interior of The Bird Cage was nothing if not classy. There was a stage and orchestra pit positioned along one wall, and a dance floor before it, where presently some mechs were dancing to pre-recorded music. There was a long bar to her left, tended by two 'Cons with car alt-modes. Small drone bar-backs moved between bar and tables carrying beverages and empty containers. Brilliant crystal chandeliers and elegant glass wall sconces kept the interior illuminated, except for those booths set against the wall and shadowed by draperies. 

Red Alert noticed Starscream was at one of the draped booths with Slipstream and another femme sitting either side of him.

Red Alert made her way to the bar, noting Sunstorm sitting at the far end, talking to the white-decoed bartender. On the way, Red Alert was greeted by Acid Storm. She did not know him, but knew of him and had glimpsed him long ago on Cybertron. He had been an associate of Starscream. He looked the way Starscream had when still maintaining his Cybertronian alt-mode; clearly a Seeker, but with a different curve to his wings and somewhat different cockpit shape and leg armor to accommodate the differences between their jet forms. The real distinguishing difference was that Acid Storm had chartreuse and black coloring with small accents of silver, red and yellow, while Starscream had silver and magenta coloring with small accents of black and yellow – and blue if one counted the paint on his claws.

“Welcome to The Bird Cage,” Acid Storm said in warm, flirty tone.

“I'm meeting someone, so I will just go to the bar, if I may.”

“But of course,” Acid Storm said in his friendly host voice with his friendly host smile. He saw Thundercracker and Skywarp approaching with Hooligan in tow.

Red Alert went to the bar, as Acid Storm greeted his important new guests and offered a choice of table with view of the upcoming show, or a booth with a little more privacy. Thundercracker chose the table where where he would have more chance of being seen, near the dance floor.

“What may I get for you?” Runabout asked as Red Alert took a seat at the bar.

“Energon, straight up.” She looked either side to see if she was being watched or targeted in any way. She tried taking a breath, but she could not seem to calm down without Ramjet being with her. She saw a white mech with an alt-mode similar to her own; He had blue coloring, with white armor accented with red markings. She thought perhaps this could be Breakdown, the stunt-driving mech Motormaster had been seeking. Currently, the stunt-driver looked to be very close with a dark, magenta jet.

They spoke to each other in Decepticon, as Runabout brought Red Alert a cube. “Nice frame,” the jet said.

“Those bits almost look like wings,” Breakdown said.

“I know how you like wings.”

“They are wings,” Red Alert said in fluent Decepticon, “and I am spoken for, so I would appreciate you being a little less obtuse in your ogling.”

“Smart too,” the jet said, “Does she remind you of someone?”

Breakdown snarled, “Autobot, haughty, red faceplate, car with little wings.”

“What do you think? Spy, traitor, deserter?”

“Maybe a missionary,” Breakdown suggested.

Red Alert tried to ignore the pair.

“Hey, we are just being friendly,” The jet said, “Designation's Skydive; I fly with the Predators.” Red Alert had seen some of them outside: Falcon, Stalker and Skyquake.

Breakdown extended his hand in greeting. Reluctantly Red Alert took his hand. “Breakdown,” he said, but did not actually claim this was his designation. Red Alert's spark flared in recognition when their hands touched.

She took a calming breath and tried to keep her expression neutral. Breakdown was Deep Cover in disguise.

“I need a witness!” Ramjet called loudly as he entered the nightclub. Of course, no one spoke-up. It was not the way of Decepticons to give evidence against each other; they all assumed this was the type of witness that was sought. “You will do!” Ramjet said, stepping up from behind Red Alert and grasping Breakdown's forearm in his claws. “Unless you were just putting your hands on my promised bond-mate without her permission?”

“It was just a friendly greeting,” Red Alert said, “These two were simply interested to know what an Autobot was doing here. Of course I explained I was waiting for you.”

“Well, hands off mechs,” Ramjet said, “she's mine. I acquired her fairly from some haughty blue Autobot in lieu of gambling debts owed to me.”

Red Alert laughed. “No, tell them the truth.”

Ramjet considered the many fun truths he might tell, but commed Red Alert first, to get their story straight: 'Simfur Syndrome?'

'No.'

'Flaming hot-rodder offered you as part of the terms of a cease fire? Data-net-order bride?'

'No and no.'

'Met in prison?' Red Alert did not veto, so Ramjet spoke, “Really, we met in prison.”

“You were the guard and she was the prisoner?” Breakdown asked.

“She was in the glitch ward and I was assigned to evaluate her competency for trial. I am very learned about such things. The warden thinks very highly of me.”

“Ramjet had quite the ethical dilemma when I tried to seduce him into letting me escape.”

“It was a brief dilemma. I had no plans to court this glitch properly. I just wanted to have some fun.”

“And you need a witness?” Skydive asked.

“That's my fetish.”

Red Alert giggled, “You should come with us,” she said, “we are having a celebration in honor of our decadence, tomorrow.”

Acid Storm saw Breakdown and Skydive leave with Ramjet and Red Alert, and promptly commed Starscream, 'Your friend just left with two suspected Autobot agents.'

'Then consider them no longer merely suspects,' Starscream replied, 'One of them is Red Alert's creator; I do not know how I know that. Let them be for now. Use the knowledge to our advantage.'

Acid Storm disconnected, returning to his duties as host. Starscream's attention returned to the two beautiful femmes sitting either side of him and arguing to whom he belonged. It should have been wildly flattering. He should have suggested they share. Yet somehow it was merely annoying.

“Flying isn't everything, Lord Starscream needs a mate with more substantial assets,” Thunderblast said.

“We can all see your assets, Blunderbust!”

“No matter how eager you are to show what you have, Slitseam, I am the one with more experience.”

“Yeah, you reek of rancid oil you've lubed-up over so many Decepticon leaders!”

“Ah, it is truly a privilege to be seated between two such cunning linguists,” Starscream said in jaded tone.

“Well I learned from the best,” Slipstream snapped, “If only we all had your verbal mastery baiting others.”

“Oh, but Trix, you are a master baiter.”

“That would be 'mistress' to you!” Slipstream snapped.

Starscream smirked. “Yes, Mistress!”

“We should apologize for the duel-language puns,” Slipstream said, which was not itself an actual apology. “It's just Starscream is so on edge, what with his position as powerless figurehead.”

“Powerless? But Lord Starscream was Megatron's second-in-command.”

“Death changes a mech,” Slipstream said with false sadness, “Thundercracker's the one with real power, now. I heard he even took out several of Galvatron's lieutenants.”

“Thundercracker?”

“The absolutely regal royal-blue Seeker over there.”

“He's handsome,” Thunderblast said.

Slipstream silently claimed victory as she saw Thunderblast leave their booth.

“That was downright manipulative, Trix.”

“I'll let Skywarp tear her apart.” Slipstream evaded dirty work when she was able.

“He might not.”

“What do you mean? Of course he would!”

“Skywarp's just as potentially capable of breeding as you. He will be looking out for worthy thirds, and much more subtly than you.”

“Oh please, do not tell me you think Thunderblast worthy!”

“She is a capable fighter, and smarter than you acknowledge.”

“She's an effin' shell-former. It's like boat – femme with bits of boat hanging off her back. You would really want that level of transformation technology passed to your offspring? The engineering-”

“She's well articulated.”

“Slaggin' dark mysteries! You cannot be serious!”

Starscream smirked. “Much as I do love when you turn into a bitter nag....”

Slipstream flopped to the tabletop in defeated posture. “It's hard for me to express myself in a straightforward manner.”

“Fortunately, I am a skilled enough linguist to understand what you truly mean, even when you lie, make omission, bend truth, say the opposite of what you feel, or just avoid answering.”

“Since when?” Slipstream asked sharply, until recently Starscream had been incredibly dense in understanding what she was saying. She moaned, “This is never going to work,”

“But dear, you just got your first challenger to walk away without even dirtying your claws.” Starscream mimed making a tick-mark with his claw. “Slipstream 1, challengers 0.”

“I was hoping more for a prospective third than challengers,” Slipstream admitted, propping her head up in one hand. She looked toward Starscream. “I understand the third could be either mech or femme, but I did not approve of that one.”

“As is your right. Don't suddenly take me for a fool, Trix. Just because I have horrible luck with relationships, that does not mean I entirely lack ability to perceive social nuances. It was clear to me that Thunderblast was more interested in my title and rank than in me. But, you, Slipstream, would love me even if I were poor, injured, powerless, maimed or dead.”

“Or all of the above, curse me.”

“It's flattering really,” Starscream said, with some amusement, “It is like you really are powerless to stop being in love with me. You are mine, for better or worse.”

“Of course. It's not some whim. I love you. This biting sense of humor that allows you to make jokes at my expense is just one of your fine qualities.”

“And your own mastery of verbal sparring is one of yours.”

Slipstream pouted and tapped idly at her glass. The metal claw-tip on glass made a high-pitched CLINK CLINK that carried across the room. The result was that everyone looked toward their booth.

Starscream stood, as if he had always intended Slipstream to draw attention to their table. “I, Starscream, publicly announce my intention to formally court Slipstream in order to prove my worth as a potential future mate.”

Slipstream was utterly surprised and embarrassed to be watched. She sat straight, and then, slowly, slipped from the booth and stood.

“Do you understand my intentions?” Starscream asked.

“Yes,” Slipstream said, but not the motivation. She still did not believe Starscream really wanted to court her. After all, they were the same. He desired to be pursued and have others vie for his attention. Didn't he?

“Knowing my intentions, do you allow me to formally court you, Slipstream?”

Everyone was watching. Her spark flared painfully. I know, she told it. She knew this was a time to be honest. A part of her wanted to say no, to not believe it was happening. But, Starscream was making the request formally and in front of witnesses. Even though he was a manipulative liar, this request was legally binding so far as witnesses would hold him to his word to court her until she decided courtship was satisfied, one way or another. “I do.”

“I am happy,” he said, only to her. He was smiling that strange at ease smile. Starscream turned then to the crowd, “A round of drinks on me in honor of our courtship!”

Slipstream stood still, confused, until Starscream came to her around the table, and embraced her. “What did you do? Why did you do it?”

“I asked your permission to court you, because I meant it,” Starscream said seriously. “Maybe the Cyber Fairy was with you when you did it, maybe the loss of your usual inhibitions with doing such direct things influenced you, but you did claim me as your intended mate and dare others to challenge your claim. That's not the very same thing as you courting me, but it is close enough, maybe it's even better. If you are willing to announce your intentions to the entire universe, can I do less?”

Slipstream touched her helm to Starscream's. “This is all insane. You know, right? But, I-I hope it can work out.”

“I am making progress already!” Starscream said, happily. “It used to be flat out refusal. You see how we give each other hope?”

“You are impossible.”

“But I know,” Starscream whispered, “I know with absolute certainty that you love me. It makes me happy. You are someone I would like to see happy, too.”

“We fight a lot. We lie. We're selfish. We are too alike.”

“So we have a few screaming matches and throw things?” Starscream shrugged, “That just means more making-up.” His tone went suggestive, but that time, Slipstream just did not find it so annoying.


	31. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "surplus to requirements". Man, I used these things a lot.

“Time just drags when you are having fun,” Ramjet said sadly. He tipped his head to their window. It was daylight, again. Red looked out from where she was snuggled beneath his left wing.

“Whose having fun? I'm miserable being your bondmate.”

Ramjet laughed. “I still hate your sense of humor.”

Red Alert snuggled back down between Ramjet and the berth in the Executive Officer's quarters. Ramjet had quickly commandeered the second-largest set of chambers as their honeymoon suite, seeing as how the actual XO was sleeping with their General. Their third-in-command had not desired the quarters, since the quarters designed for that of a typical Information or Communication Officer had included a whole lot of tech gear Slipstream found more desirable than space.

It wasn't some ritzy high-rise apartment in Iacon with detailed engraving on the walls, but Red didn't care about that, so Ramjet didn't either. That was the beauty – or the curse as some bickering long-bonded couples would say – of being bondmates. They just knew how the other felt.

“We can get a few cycles recharge before our party,” Red Alert suggested.

“I so want to go to the party now.”

“It's the same, if we stay here or go to the party. We will still feel as close as we are now.”

It was true, in a sense. Ramjet knew. He did not understand the physics of it, and did not care to; sparks could have magical properties for all he cared. What he did understand was that their being bondmates meant their sparks and energy fields were permanently entwined. Shells and intellects were separate and individual, but the spirit was shared, or maybe united was a better word. It was difficult to explain really, but Ramjet did know how it felt. “You think they could just bring the party here? Have a kind of love-in?”

“I wonder if Thundercracker is online yet.”

Ramjet smirked, sensing Red Alert's mischievousness, which he very much enjoyed. The prospect of annoying his chain-of-command made up for the fact that she had so neatly changed the subject. Relationships really were about compromise. “How disheveled do you think I can get away with being?”

“The question is: how disheveled will you need to be to get Thundercracker to actually say what he thinks we have been doing?”

“I knew I got bonded to the wrong femme!” Ramjet said in mock outrage.

Thundercracker had not yet come online, though he did not know it. His recharge was disturbed by randomly generated sensory data, such that he thought his engines had stalled over an ocean and he had sheered off his wings hitting the waves and was quickly taking on water and sinking into the cold, dark depths. He needed there to be someone he could trust to rescue him from a watery grave, but he only trusted Skywarp to see him in such a state and Skywarp was afraid. He was not going to comm Scalpel, or Thunderblast, even if they did have aquatic forms.

Thundercracker screamed shrilly and in most un-regal fashion as he booted hard out of recharge mode. He was actually wet, which did nothing to aid his processor in distinguishing false sensory data from reality. Some small blue thing was sitting to his lap, struggling to keep its own balance as Thundercracker flailed.

“Wet dream?” Drench asked.

Skywarp giggled, lifted the sparkling and brought him into his own lap.

Thundercracker regained a modicum of dignity and established that he was alive, online, not in water or near an ocean, and that he, Skywarp and the sparkling were in their berth, in the command quarters, within New Kaon.

“It's all right,” Skywarp said, “We don't hold random recharge images against a mech.”

Thundercracker groaned and reached into his subspace storage for a polishing cloth. He wiped at the wet spots along his legs and torso. “What is it doing here?”

“This is Drench,” Skywarp said. “He's Acid Storm and Overcast's sparkling.”

“...doing here, 'Warp. What is it doing here?”

“Well, we're the sitters.”

Thundercracker looked at Skywarp crossly. He did not say the words, but the expression was the one that said he thought Skywarp was doing something stupid, and he really did not want to be a leader who became violent with his subordinates, but it would become a possibility if someone did not quickly supply a reasonable explanation.

“I'm the sitter,” Skywarp amended, “I agreed, because....that's not entirely true. Actually, Acid Storm came here after closing and was going to ask Starscream very nicely, if he would do it, because he really needs some decent recharge. By then, Starscream and Slipstream had already returned here, recharged and gotten up again. And, I had gotten up, too. And Drench was so cute, and I'd never gotten to play with a sparkling. I wasn't even scared. So, I asked if I could be the sitter, and Starscream told Acid Storm it was a good idea. So....”

“You decided it would be a good idea to sit him upon me while I was in recharge.”

“I didn't know he was going to wet himself, again. He looked cute there. Really. I'll send you a visual.”

“No need.” Thundercracker gave Skywarp and Drench a sidelong glance. Skywarp was kneeling with his head bowed and shoulders and wings pressed forward; he was taking a surprisingly cowering and submissive posture for one who the night before had pulled-off haughty, dangerous and domineering so well. Not an it; Drench looked like a significantly sized-down version of a Seeker: all head and lower legs. He clearly lacked the broad upper body and wingspan of an adult, which would allow for for true self-sustained flight. His colors were ocean blue, seafoam green and silver, with narrow stripes of red parallel to the trailing edge of his wings. Most alien races would lack the visual acuity to spot him in a stormy sky or flying low over waves. He would do well on a watery world, assigned to a carrier or with an aquatic partner, Thundercracker's strategic subroutines supplied.

Drench seemed to imitate Skywarp's submissive posture. Thundercracker reached with his left hand and lifted Skywarp's chin. “Sparklings are highly sensitive to others' spark energy.”

Skywarp understood. “Thundercracker was just pretending to be startled to amuse us,” Skywarp lied, “It was funny, right, Drench?”

“Funny,” Drench said slowly.

“I suppose we have him until the party?” Thundercracker asked.

Skywarp smiled.

“Have you both had your ration?”

“Yes,” Skywarp answered.

“I do not need to wash quite yet, as Drench was so helpful with that.”

Drench laughed. “Dihydrogen monoxide!”

“It seems we will just have to spend all our time playing,” Thundercracker concluded.

When Ramjet entered the fuel hall looking as disheveled as possible, he found Thundercracker crouched within the preparation area. Thundercracker thought Ramjet showing lack of decorum, and Ramjet thought Thundercracker had just cracked.

“Lost a lens, General?” Ramjet asked.

“Hush, idiot, you will draw attention if you talk to me.”

Ramjet could tell Thundercracker wanted badly to be able to comment on his appearance, so he accidentally-on-purpose bumped his bare right leg against Thundercracker's wing as he went to the stores of energon.

Skywarp came into the hall, talking to himself. “I wonder where everyone is hiding.”

“There's no one in the prep area,” Ramjet said helpfully.

Skywarp ignored him and began looking under chairs and amid the exposed ductwork along the ceiling.

“What are you mechs playing at this time?”

“We are playing Hide and Go Seek with a Sparkling.”

“You got a sparkling already? And I thought Red and I were fast.”

“I can see that, you disgraceful slaarg! Going at it like turbofoxes, no doubt!”

Ramjet laughed. “Is Starscream around?”

“He's there in the landing bay doing some ridiculous thing,” Thundercracker said irritably.

“So, you mechs can stop hiding and seeking. He's probably convinced your sparkling to go do something out-of-bounds just to mess with you.”

“Fragger!”

“Oh, language General!” Even Ramjet knew Thundercracker rarely used strong curse words.

Hearing the exchange, Skywarp went through the doors to the adjacent landing bay, which served as entrance and exit directly to the air, via a wide portal set along the north side of the tower. There he found Starscream and Slipstream lounging upon a bench they had pulled onto the cantilevered ledge just outside the open bay doors.

Slipstream was laying on her back, helm off, and feet in Starscream's lap. Skywarp decided she was soaking up stellar rays with her photovoltaic filaments rather than just being risque. Starscream seemed at leisure, reading a data pad and wearing a blue visor over his optics, against the bright daylight. Or, maybe they were trying just a little to tantalize onlookers; Skywarp saw Starscream's claws playing with Slipstream's fins.

“Where is Drench?”Thundercracker demanded.

“You tell me,” Starscream said, looking over his left wing.

“Weren't you two playing with him?” Slipstream asked.

Skywarp began to feel dread. Had Ramjet lied? Where was Drench, really?

“Did you hide him? Or tell him to go out-of bounds?” Thundercracker asked angrily.

Starscream turned back, as if to his data, but he internally consulted his sensors. They were not keeping their dampening active since arriving on New Kaon, mostly to keep the technology secret from other Decepticons. “The blip there is Sunstorm,” he gestured above, “You three. Ramjet. I think another that way is Red. I think the other is Vortex. The others are out.”

“Way to go, TC, you lost the Sparkling,” Ramjet snarked.

Thundercracker clenched his claws and glared, but Skywarp took absolute offense to the words and flew at Ramjet hard enough to send them both sliding across the floor and into a grouping of chairs.

“Skywarp!” Slipstream screamed, as she quickly sat.

Sunstorm flipped down from his star-lit perch higher on the tower's spire, dodged Thundercracker, just in case he was going to interfere, and went to break-up the fight.

“You are the one who endangered the sparkling!” Skywarp shrieked, “We could have been looking for him!”

Sunstorm put his claws on the upper, leading edge of Skywarp's wings and released enough energy to give him a power surge. Ramjet quickly crawled out from beneath as Skywarp flailed then collapsed.

'Drench,' Starscream commed, 'You are so good at hiding! You won! Now, come out now and find me, I will give you a treat!'

“What in the pit is wrong with you?” Ramjet raged in the background.

'I got captured by Autobots,' Drench commed sadly.

“It was a slagging joke!”

'Red!' Starscream commed, 'Is he with you? Did you find a sparkling?'

“Actually, something feels like....He might be with Red,” Ramjet said soberly. “nervous-concerned-insulted?”

'Yes, just now, in the ductwork. I do not think he likes me.'

“Drench is all right,” Starscream called out, “He is with Red Alert.” He commed her again, 'Please bring him out. We might need Ramjet for a while longer, though.'

When Red Alert carried Drench into the fuel hall, she was already unsettled. She had sensed Ramjet's amusement, and then terror, and then outrage and relief. Now she saw signs of a struggle. Sunstorm's posture was guarded; he was literally keeping Ramjet to his corner. Slipstream was tending to Skywarp who was on his hands and knees upon the floor. Thundercracker, usually quite civil to her, glared as he walked past, back toward the private chambers.

Starscream stood and went slowly toward Red.

Slipstream, nearby, assured Skywarp that Drench was well. Skywarp did not answer, but Stormshadow suddenly appeared in what the other Cybertronians could only guess was the costume of a young female human assigned with guarding domesticated livestock herds. “Skywarp does not want to talk,” Stormshadow said in English.

“Is it real?” Drench asked.

“No, mechling, only a holo,” Starscream said sweetly, which was a bit disturbing to those who were not themselves sparklings. “You did a really good job with the Autobot, Drench; you did not struggle too much, after she got a hold on you.”

“The juvenile weaponry does sting a little,” Red Alert said, in Decepticon, which made Drench question Starscream with wide optics.

“Did not want to lose any breakaway parts unless I saw a place to escape.” 

“Exactly,” Starscream agreed. “The Autobot's designation is Red Alert. She is a trained Medi-bot and Security Team 'Bot. Her scientific specialization is Seekers, like us. She is lightly armed, but capable in close-quarters combat and basic martial arts. She is a sports model, so she can transform and drive away quickly. Also, our intelligence says she has some limited short-range flight capability. She recently became spark-bonded to the Decepticon Ramjet, who was her charge in prison. This makes her allegiance, and possible involvement in the prison escape suspect. Or, does it?”

“Once an Autobot, always an Autobot!” Drench recited, “But, she may be useful, still.”

“Fascinating,” Red Alert said reverently, “They are faction indoctrinated and military trained from sparklinghood.”

“Sometimes, I do not know how we lost Cybertron,” Starscream sighed. Then cheerfully he said, “Two gold stars! I did promise a treat if you came out.” He held the wafer-thin, die-cut, sheet metal stars fanned between his claw-tips. Drench took them both in his much smaller claws. The first he stuck to his chest with a bit of vapor and pressure, forming a seal between the layers of metal. The second he put to his mouth and licked with his sensor nodule.

“Aurum. Tastes good.” Drench put the star in his mouth and ate it.

“You can ride with me now, Chief,” Starscream suggested, with tip of his head to the star Drench wore. He turned and unfolded the dorsal plating across his lower back, giving his wings swallow-tails and exposing the struts beneath.

When Red Alert held him at Arm's length, Drench hopped over to Starscream's back. He grabbed the edge of the seam between wings and neck with his claws, and then the points of his feet found the footholds positioned along the intake housing, at the base of each swallowtail. One-handed, Drench opened the panel in front of him, located on Starscream's back, unwound the umbilical and fastened himself in place with an audible click.

“Skywarp did not even know you could do that,” Stormshadow said.

Starscream turned back around and regarded the avatar. “Well, now he knows. Right, Stormshadow?”

Stormshadow looked as if he would speak, but then faded from sight.

“It is only because we have not been in sparkling shells ourselves, or had sparkling of our own,” Slipstream said, mostly guessing, but nevertheless correct. “We certainly do possess a lot of conditional programming in our code.” 

“It is more efficient that way, your apps and subroutines can remain in an inactive, highly compressed state until needed.”

“Ingesting solids for example?”

“The state of a compound or element is of little significance,” Starscream said evasively.

Slipstream smiled. She knew she got it somewhere. “You know what I mean. The metals.”

“Sparklings need to gain mass so they can grow into upgraded shells and armor,” Drench said by rote, “Nanites need raw materials to reproduce quickly.”

“But not big mechs?” Slipstream asked.

“Only if injured enough to warrant it, or a freak Imperial,” Starscream snapped. He quickly regained his mask of composure. “Skywarp, if you have pulled yourself together, perhaps you can go get yourself ready for the party. I will deal with Ramjet and Thundercracker.”

“Yes, My Liege,” Skywarp said quietly, still on the floor.

“Use my room, if you are afraid Thundercracker still needs time to repair his ego.” Starscream had claimed his own room, but it was one of the plainest and smallest still suitable for a flier, with a small window, and just enough room to stretch one's wings. Most did not care why he had not invited himself to share Slipstream's room, and those who did care had not reasoned his motivations. “Ramjet.”

“Clearly, I didn't take that joke far enough. It's obvious to me why failing at Hide and Go Seek is traumatic.”

Skywarp, back on his feet, looked once to Starscream and then to Ramjet, and then left with a rush of air filling the space he had just been.

“What exactly did you say, Ramjet?” Red Asked. “Thundercracker looked quite cross.”

“That may just have been on account of your cables showing,” Slipstream said softly.

Red lifted one hand to touch the dark cables on her head.

“I like them, really,” Slipstream said, too positive for Red Alert's comfort. “Do many Autobot's have them? Can I look closely?”

“No, and I'll sever all your i/o cables if you ever try connecting to one.”

“Ramjet,” Starscream said again.

“What?!”

'Allow my wireless connection.'

Ramjet answered aloud, “What are you gonna do?”

'Now.'

Ramjet allowed the access and Starscream took control of synchronizing memory access. Ramjet saw what Starscream wished him to see. “Enough. I understand. Enough. You can stop.”

“Leadership, Ramjet, is a hard burden to bear, but being a genitor or caretaker for young lives is the hardest.” Starscream sent out a comm, 'TC.'

Thundercracker answered, 'Do not address me so.'

'Drench is with me. He's fine. I told Skywarp to go get ready for the party. Ramjet knows, now. He admitted he took the joke too far. If you wish it, he may even apologize.'

'No. Just leave me alone. Unlike some, I am doing nothing so foolish as bleeding on the floor of my wash room. I have pressing matters to consider.'

'Not to seem cruel, but shall I also handle looking for Dirge, Your Majesty? He has not been seen since last night.'

'I am sure your calm and collected demeanor will serve you just as well in this task, My Liege. I would not want to appear overly concerned about just one subordinate.'

'You would never show favoritism nor concern for others, General Thundercracker.'

'Just tell Slipstream and Vortex they are the retrieval squad again.'

'But we were having such fun playing Celebrity Couple and posing for the paparazzi.'

'Yes, I am certain we all have lists of potential courtiers, followers and enemy agents after our appearances of last evening. Just send them. Let Sunstorm pose with you, if you lack a playmate, though he seems only to attract twins.'

'I knew someone would inherit that.'

'Disgraceful.' Thundercracker disconnected from the comm.

Slipstream, her two remaining brothers, and Red Alert had organized while Starscream was occupied with his comms. Red Alert was supervising Ramjet and Sunstorm in getting ready for the party to be hosted, which mainly involved arranging tables and chairs and making sure refreshments were stocked. Slipstream had either been conscripted or volunteered to keep the guest list, which consisted largely of Starscream's former contacts, Decepticons recommended by Acid Storm or Smokejumper, and anyone any of the Seeker clones had met the night before not included in the first two categories. Several of these had already announced intentions to court one among Team Luna, while others had announced discrete interest in learning more of the team or a desire to join.

The party had been their Morale Officer's idea, to celebrate his own recent union, but it would serve to give the team opportunity to become better acquainted with other powers among the current Decepticon forces.

The turbolift chimed, signaling entry from below. “Maybe Dirge is back!” Slipstream said excitedly. She left the fuel hall for the corridor between rooms. When the lift doors opened, Slipstream did not see anyone, but then, just as the doors began to automatically close, a dark shape leapt from the interior and sped along the corridor, striking the wall with a dull metallic scrape, and bounding off into the fuel hall. No sooner did Starscream receive Slipstream's broadcast announcing the intruder to all the Seekers than the intruder was upon him. Or, she would have been if Starscream had not quickly taken off; the intruder found only burning thrusters and a swift kick, rather than sensitive wings and neck cables.

“Now, now, Ravage, let's cease these tests; we are neither of us as young as we used to be,” Starscream mocked, “Well, maybe you are, as it's not possible to get much older than infinitely old, no matter how many passing cycles you add.”

The black feline-form mechanism stood proudly on four legs, seemingly uninjured. “Starscream, you tool, my powers only increase. Your security is laughable,” She purred in low register Decepticon.

“Oh, Please,” Starscream said as he set-down on the metal flooring of the fuel hall. “I have not even occupied the command quarters one local solar day.” They saw Skywarp had warped in, to see who the intruder was. “You probably persuaded the workers to build you secret entrances under threat of some ancient wizardry.” Slipstream returned from the corridor. Starscream continued sidestepping to keep his optics fixed on Ravage as she paced, “Besides, I have delegated such trivial matters all to Thundercracker.”

“I assume you mean one of these clones, as we both know that sentimental fool tore out his own spark.” Ravage switched the pattern of her rhythmic pacing and moved close to Slipstream. Slipstream hopped, not wanting the uninvited contact between fields; she attempted to remain facing the feline-form femme. Ravage purred wordlessly as she circled Slipstream, and then said, “I had to see them for myself. All those times you mocked me, accused me of relying on Imperial techniques. Is this hypocrisy?” 

“Hardly. It's common knowledge I used Autobot-made protoforms and shards of the AllSpark,” Starscream said lightly. Ravage could tell, easily, by his posture, scent, and latent energy in the room, that Starscream was guarding the extent of his knowledge, but more he was torn between defending the sparkling on his back and the Seeker femme near Ravage.

Slipstream could access the file on Ravage from Starscream's memory, but it was largely redacted and made use of the terms 'unconfirmed', 'potential', and 'unknown'. What it did confirm as fact included a long list of skills, high rank, and successful missions – the nature of most being secret. It was not even officially confirmed that Ravage was femme in gender.

“Femme and Seeker is rarer than just femme or Seeker. She is the very image of Slipstream, but then she would have to be.”

“Leave her-” Starscream started, and then stopped, aware he was only giving Ravage information to use against him. “She is pleasing enough,” he said, attempting a careless tone, “I prefer these colors to silver.”

“And I thought you found silver so attractive, Starscream,” Ravage taunted, “Does Straxus know of this one yet?”

“Does he?”

“My allegiance has never been to the Empire.” Ravage shifted again, watched the Seekers move in unison, all refusing to turn their backs to her. She stalked toward the Autobot. It sent the bonded Seeker into a flurry of defensive posturing, made all the more amusing by his partially armored state. His wings and fins moved to their widest, furthest-spread configuration; seemingly random panels opened revealing landing gear and hidden weaponry; anything to look larger and more intimidating. “Let's not get all slighted villainess from some recharge tale,” Ramjet said, “You know you are invited to our party?”

“Scalpel informed me,” Ravage stated and switched her pattern again to stalk toward the yellow one.

“I should have recognized one of your progeny,” Starscream said, now behind Ravage. “But Scalpel just seemed too smart. You must have really put your all into creating him, or were you just hiding beneath berths again?”

“Let us not taunt Madame Ravage,” Sunstorm said, “Clearly such a strong matriarch among Decepticons deserves respect. One so truly skilled as to gain access to our current headquarters and scent our fears and weaknesses deserves at least that. If she is truly creator of the fine Doctor, then we should show gratitude as well.”

“Suck-up,” Ravage growled. A laugh sounded from Slipstream, now standing behind Starscream. Ravage shifted again and paced back and forth in front of Starscream, aware the other Seeker mechs were circled about her. She opened a panel along her torso and Scalpel hopped out. “Scalpel informs me you do not mean to stay. There is another planet, with a particular satellite to which these clones have an affinity.” 

“And if there is?” Starscream asked.

“I go with you.”

“No.”

“It was not a question,” Ravage purred. “I care nothing for your Seekers or your sparklings. I merely wish passage off this planet and wish to go to the one you know. I will go my own way there and certainly draw less attention than whatever you plan.”

Starscream laughed, madly, “I have seen you eat your own young!”

“Sometimes recycling is necessary.”

“Necessary? You freak! We don't all just vomit-up nanites into random configurations of mechanical life and then devour what is considered surplus to requirements!”

“Just because you do not, does not make it wrong,” Ravage said.

“I don't know why Jhiaxus has not vivisected you yet!”

“Jhiaxus fears me,” Ravage purred, “As you would, if you had any true intelligence in that bird-brain of yours, Starscream.”

“We are not some beast-forms!”

'Control your emotion,' Slipstream commed. She opened the scheme to include the other Seekers, 'I think Scalpel really did betray our plans for the prison break on Cybertron.'

“Scalpel,” Skywarp called aloud, “did you betray us? Did you communicate our plans for the prison break to Ravage, or other Decepticons? Some of us thought it very inconvenient and suspicious that Team Chaar and Team Titan both showed-up at the prison on the day we planned to rescue our brothers.”

“I am not spy,” Scalpel said, looking as proud and tall as possible, “I only contacted Ravage when away from Team Chaar, to explain situation. You should suspect Scorponok!” Scalpel spit on the ground at the name.

Ravage hissed at Scalpel, and he cowered. The feline tossed her head and addressed Starscream, “Scalpel did not leave New Kaon of his own will, but this was not known at the time. There was suspicion on him here. Scorponok believes, still, that Scalpel stole Blackout's favor from him. When Scalpel was free to do so, he contacted me to say Blackout had taken him and that he was free and among some Seekers in the trade nexus. That some of this was known to Scorponok I can neither confirm nor deny. I suggest you consider that Cyclonus was always more loyal to Galvatron and Cybertronian Empire, than to Team Chaar or Decepticons. For Scalpel's part, he seems fond of your team and has informed me of his desire to join your forces. I have given my approval.”

“Scalpel,” Skywarp said, “Were you really going to join?”

“Permission for transfer granted. Must inform Thundercracker.” Scalpel saw Skywarp stoop and reach out with open hands. He skittered quickly across the floor and hopped into Skywarp's claws.

“We're going to go inform Thundercracker now!” Skywarp told the others. He and Scalpel disappeared from sight as he warped.

“And you?” Ravage asked, “Did you betray Megatron yet again and foil the rescue attempt?”

“Me?” Starscream asked incredulously, “I was dead at the time! And you can thank your precious Megatron for that!”

“And the Autobot Cyber-Ninjas,” Slipstream whispered.

“Oh, no more precious to me than to you, Starscream,” Ravage stopped pacing and sat back on her haunches. “Who was in charge? Thundercracker?” The name still seemed to amuse her.

“You must understand, Madame, though Slipstream, Ramjet and I had actually served Megatron-”

“For such a long time, too,” Ramjet interjected.

“He didn't exactly care much when bounty hunters and Autobots were capturing his mechs,” Slipstream said bitterly, “If Thundercracker and I hadn't combined forces, our brothers might still be rusting away in confinement in Trypticon Maximum Security Detention Facility.”

“Though I am certain the Autobots would be taking excellent care of our mental wellbeing,” Sunstorm said pleasantly.

“You did not interfere with the other Decepticons?” Ravage asked.

“Certainly not!” Ramjet lied.

“Mostly it was the Autobots,” Sunstorm answered, “The Decepticons, mighty and crafty as they are, might have prevailed, but when Optimus Prime and Rodimus Major showed up with their teams, the heroic Autobots turned the tide of battle. It was really due to Optimus Prime's inspiring leadership and Rodimus Major's fine capacity for cooperation and willing deference to his betters.”

Ramjet snickered.

“Why so interested?” Starscream asked Ravage, “Do you really expect my Seekers to risk getting caught? To work to free Megatron or Shockwave or lend a servo to Strika or Astrotrain? Maybe long ago, in some time you remember Decepticons were united-” Ravage snarled, because Starscream was old enough to remember himself, “but for a long while now it's been every cell for themselves. Megatron can hijack the bandwidth with tachion transmitters and make as many political speeches as he wants, but Decepticons now know the leadership views them only as cannon fodder, and denies them privileges that we once all considered our rights!” 

“Who is making political speeches?” Ramjet snarked to Sunstorm, beside him.

“I am interested,” Ravage said – the turbolift chimed as she spoke, signaling someone else was coming from below – “because I remember when Trypticon was an air base.”

“So, the perverse Autobots made a prison out of the remains of a Decepticon air base?”

Swindle walked into the fuel hall, “Hey anyone seen-?”

“It was a mobile air base,” Red Alert spoke-up.

“Maybe now is a bad time?” Swindle said.

“The most formerly high-ranking Decepticons, their most trusted and insane lieutenants, and a slew of Autobot and alien criminals are being held in a MOBILE DECEPTICON AIR BASE?”

“They would only need to smuggle in a replacement transformation cog and draw significant power, say from the Iacon city grid,” Ravage suggested.

“SWINDLE!”

“I didn't know what it was for! The triple changers just asked me to get them the cog! I nearly got pick-up by Autobots before I could make the exchange,” Swindle wheedled.

“Oh, thank the Dark God, at least Uncle Swindle got paid!” Ramjet ranted.

“The triple changers?” Slipstream asked, “Not Strika?”

“Yeah, yeah, it was Thrust! I mean, so he's not actually a triple changer, but he's working with them. Well, come to think of it, the other two were not standing that close when we made the actual exchange.”

“Do you understand that Thrust belongs in a GLITCH WARD?” Starscream demanded, “He totally blew his logic circuits when he lost his former wingmates and now he follows the guidance of occult oracles! Astrology! There's absolutely no scientific basis for it whatsoever!”

“So,” Swindle began awkwardly, “understanding this is a very bad time, has anyone seen Dirge?”


	32. Barbecue Heroin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “breathe higher air” is a quote I remembered from Fruits Basket
> 
> TFA Dead End had not yet been revealed when I wrote this, so the version here is more influenced by the RotF Deluxe Class Dead End toy. So instead of the beat poet thing, he's part giant, scary, metal, moth-like robot, and part spooky scene kid wearing eyeliner, cabbie cap, headphones, tight jeans and skates.

Dirge onlined again, vaguely recollecting dim moments of conscious thought, interspersed with emergency stasis. The low-power warnings, displayed in overlay across his field of vision, did not even flash anymore; his processor had automatically gone into an energy-conservation mode. The systems Dirge did have at his command, which were only a few, were limited in functionality. He was aware of a prompt, asking whether he wanted his emergency homing beacon active. Another warning gave him the specific levels of fuels and other fluids; he was literally running on fumes.

Dirge felt his consciousness dimming at the edges; he was going to fall into stasis again, maybe die. It would have been an interesting experiment – to possess the dark mysteries of the universe – if he were certain anyone was near to revive him afterward. As it was, his death would just be another random loss to the Decepticons.

Dirge wanted to see Swindle again, even if it was just to have him ask how much Dirge would offer to have his life restored. He wanted to hear 'cha-ching' again, and that smooth salesmech talk, or even the mean threats. He wanted to see the lust-filled gleam in those big purple optics. Wanted that non-committing scoundrel with all his greedy spark.

He would like very much to see his sister again, and his brothers, too, and even Starscream. Professor Scalpel. Dirge wondered if they would miss him, miss his company.

There was little chance they would find him if they looked. He was in an underground chamber with thick walls. His weak beacon might not even be detected if he did activate it. Few Decepticons were likely to come here, unless they were interested in what memorial markers had been erected within New Kaon. It was a rather fitting place to die, Dirge thought morbidly.

The only thing that might have a chance of carrying was sound. The chamber was large, mostly empty and made up of hard surfaces. The sound waves might carry, echo and reverberate, and even reach the street above. He did not have the energy to make much sound, but if he used the last of his reserves to access his pocket, just maybe there was something he had in his collection that had its own internal power source.

It used all his remaining energy to open his pocket, pull out his belongings and activate what few devices he was able.

Dirge fell into stasis. His processor was shut down. His shell lacked power to move or transmit sensory data. Dirge's spark was dim, but still glowing in its chamber. He was alive. His energy field collapsed in toward the center of his spark, concentrating his life force, giving the spark's intensity a little boost. The nanites in the outer sections of his shell shut down. In a short time, he would gray. This was all that was left, his spark and the nanites immediately about his spark chamber.

Could his spark leave his shell entirely? Would he be finally deactivated, then? Dead? Would he exist for a time as a ghost, or find some afterlife with other departed sparks? Dirge wanted to understand such mysteries. The knowledge should be his. But, instead his spark relived events from his past in brief flashes; a fleeting sense of how it had been to exist at a particular time and space, and then another.

The first time he had met his sister, Slipstream, in the Nemesis wreck; they had gone from fighting to mourning their creator together. The time he had first recognized Skywarp and Thundercracker as his brothers, on a busy avenue in the trade nexus. The flight to Cybertron and subsequent mission to free their brothers Sunstorm and Ramjet, when Dirge had first felt the sense of belonging and purpose that was to him what being a Decepticon ought to be.

He remembered meeting Swindle and Vortex in the personal effects storage locker. Mad, yet helpful Uncle Vortex; and mean, crazy, itching-for-a-fight, shrewd, crafty, greedy Swindle with his tough, compact frame and large purple optics. Dirge remembered brushing against him in the tunnels while they hid from Autobots and waited to rejoin the other Seeker clones. He remembered haggling over stolen goods and hearing cha-ching, the realization that he had acquired someone's friendship, and the excited feeling of being challenged by another in attaining everything he desired.

He remembered how it felt to have a spark for the first time in his life.

He remembered meeting his creator, Starscream, just resurrected from beyond.

He remembered coming out of recharge on the Lazy Sue and finding Swindle nearby, and assuming that he was looking to steal his belongings, which seemed in retrospect another form of covetousness. Dirge remembered the fight at the casino especially well. He remembered discovering that Swindle had a particular manner that was neither mean nor smooth, but musical and coy; he used it when he spoke to Dirge to say things like, “You can cover me any time,” or “You're a good mech to have at my back.” It sounded that way whenever he called his name.

Dirge remembered the way they struggled with each other and how others did not understand. He remembered it had felt so right to be near Swindle, and how he had felt need to test for something like compatibility. Remembered the joy of learning that they were rather evenly matched, as Swindle made up for lack in physical size and strength with uncanny timing and experienced placement of blows.

Dirge recalled so well the first time he had given himself over to sharing physical pleasure with another, and that it had been Swindle. He remembered how Swindle had tasted: smoky, slightly charred, with a heavy undertone of tangy sweetness, like energon slow roasted over a road; it had been perfect. He remembered how, spurred on by Dormitory Effect, they had started their own slow combustion. The pleasurable vibrations of running engines conducted from one shell into another. Sparks had not touched, but they had been so physically close it felt like their essences intertwined. Dirge remembered making so many eager, greedy, needy gestures: grabbing, grasping, holding. He remembered how Swindle had felt, admittedly more experienced. His small digits had found every sensitive juncture and plane of Dirge's shell, including a few interior spots hidden beneath armor.

His first time. Their time. The perfect time.

All the good memories.

Then, in a flash, Dirge saw last night. His depressed morbid thoughts and descent to the world below, which had resulted in his ending up completely drained and lying buried in a memorial chamber beneath a marker dedicated to someone else named Dirge.

He remembered Dead End.

Dirge had already been in a bad mood when he approached the grounder-frequented oil house known as the Barb and Trench. He had not really known what to expect, as Starscream's memory included only those places a high-ranking Seeker was likely to patronize and his own experience included visits to The Bird Cage and the casino at Grand Central.

Dirge did not recognize the motorcycle at the door, but the red chopper recognized him as one of the new Seekers and ushered him inside, “Go on in, My Lord.”As much as Dirge appreciated acquiring a title, he did not appreciate the sarcasm with which it was apparently given.

The interior was dimly lit and the ceiling height, thought not so low as to touch Dirge's helm, made him feel crowded and cramped. At the bar, a black and pink femme, who also looked like a cycle, was ordering a group of three pastel-decoed Mini-cons about their various tasks. Dirge wondered momentarily whether this might be considered a bike bar, but he soon saw the majority of clients were military ground forces.

Dirge did not immediately see Swindle in the crowd, but he was trying to be inconspicuous as possible in his stalking. His brief scan identified numerous grounders with those types of alt-modes that Seekers would usually lump together as 'ground support': tanks, armored cars, jeeps, buggies, utility vehicles, and larger trucks; most had gun, canon, or missile mounts. They had a range of colors and deco patterns, but most were designed for camouflage – some warm desert tones, some green like chlorophyll jungles, a few autumnal, others muted cool-toned urban camo, and a couple white like polar caps.

Dirge sat at the bar, aware of their murmurs. He tried to make their point-of-view his own, to understand that to them Seekers were some kind of elitist advanced scouts that did not deign to dirty their talons and never did the heavy work in a military campaign. Seekers were free to fire missiles from above and fly quickly away, while they were commanded to hold and advance the front lines and took heavy fire from enemies and suffered casualties.

Yet, Dirge thought, in his own point of view, Seekers were so rare in their time, while here there seemed so many of these military grounders. Combaticons and Commandos and other teams for which Dirge did not have names in his memory.

Swindle fit-in here. He was an arms dealer by profession, one of the best, even if he did cheat a few of his clients. Swindle knew the importance of supplying Decepticons with functional weaponry; it wasn't as if the Autobots were going to take him in. He even had a alt-mode with which they could easily relate: a sandy-toned utility vehicle with a canon mount.

One of the little mini-cons approached, a lavender one, clearly walking along a raised ledge behind the bar. Dirge could hear her grumbling about a revolution, and wanted suddenly to make the truth of the Mini-con socio-political agenda his. “What will you have?” she asked in her peculiar machine language.

“I want one of everything,” Dirge replied in Decepticon. Maybe the small bartender thought it a joke, because she returned and dropped a can of entirely average oil before him. “Viva La Revolution. Power to the people,” Dirge tried, not knowing if he translated the sentiment of the Earth phrases correctly; some concepts were not defined within Decepticon. The little lavender femme walked away to whisper conspiratorially with the other two pastel Mini-cons. 

Dirge gulped at his oil and dared to look back into the crowd for Swindle again. He spotted the arms dealer seated at a table with green and orange mechs. A little green jeep looked quite relaxed at Swindle's side, and there was a tank and a truck there speaking with him. Dirge saw Swindle's purple optics fix on him and quickly turned away.

Maybe, Dirge told himself, there was very good reason Swindle had not asked him along in the first place. Dirge understood Swindle was strictly no-strings, but did that mean they could not go together to separately meet others? Dirge had liked when Swindle told Slipstream that Dirge was to be his wingmech. It meant he needed a buddy at his side to go out and socialize. Dirge liked the sense of belonging he felt being someone's friend and buddy and wingmech. It meant he also had possessed a wingmech of his own.

Now, just because they had gone and done a whole lot of intimate slag together, Dirge, it seemed, could never again be the wingmech. He was like the one someone needed a wingmech in order to meet. Or worse, he was the past conquest that would be forgotten. Or, maybe even the partner one tired of and left at home when they went to find a replacement.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe Swindle had just been setting completely understandable boundaries and was not here to find a new partner to do his intimate slag with. Maybe he was conducting a business deal. Dirge tried to make Swindle's point-of-view his, so he could understand. Maybe a young Seeker at his side would somehow ruin his deal.

Dirge finished his oil and wondered if the bar had anything stronger. He could not even theorize why he wanted Swindle so much. If he was as greedy as the others said, he should just want everyone to be his. He should want the little bartenders. He should want the bikes. He should want that little green jeep. Well, he did, a little, but when any data associated with Swindle was processed by his CPU, Dirge felt glitched, and could not compute the possibility of wanting another more.

He, who desired to possess everything, felt possessed.

He was so owned.

But he would show Swindle. He would just give himself away to someone else, Dirge decided. He was not going to just think about it, or talk about it. He was really going to find another partner, maybe one who wanted attachment.

That was when Dirge noticed Dead End standing in the shadows, near the end of the bar, watching him; a glowing red visor in the dark. That he was so difficult to see, made Dirge want to have a closer look.

Slipstream, out searching for Dirge, transformed and set down on a roadway at the intersection below The Bird Cage. Swindle was already at the entrance to The Barb and Trench. “It's closed?” Slipstream asked.

“Yeah, I knew it would be,” Swindle said, but we need to start the search here. It's here I last saw him.” Vortex was hovering above, in his helicopter mode. Swindle commed him, 'Hang-out up there, will ya? If you spot any of those Stunticons, or the bikes that hang out here, feel free to question them.'

'You think the Kid got mixed up with those mechs?'

'I don't know,' Swindle commed, in his mean tone, 'Just consider them wanted for questioning. But, if you see Dead End, I want to have a chat with that freak myself.'

Vortex did not ask another question and returned to monitoring the area.

“You don't happen to have some handy device that unlocks doors?” Slipstream asked.

Swindle had, but he could see where this conversation was going and he knew it was waste of time. “Listen, Streamer, I want to find the Kid, at least a much as you do, but your hacking skills are not going to help. This is my territory down here. Trust me.”

“Trust you? Yeah, right!” Slipstream huffed through her vents.

“Listen Sister, any security camera in this place would have been watching the employees, not the clients. You won't find any witnesses, especially looking like you do. What I need you to do is keep your sensors active and stay out of my way. Just check for any special Seeker codes or Earth tech...anything that looks like a sign from Dirge.”

“You know more than you're saying, Swindle,” Slipstream accused, coming after him as Swindle started searching. He pulled up a map, overlaid a grid and focused on secluded areas within the first square of the grid.

“I don't know anything for certain. I wish I knew. I commed him earlier, without response, so I went to the command quarters. That's it.”

“But you did see him. That place, the Barb and Trench, Dirge went in there looking for you!”

“Yeah, yeah I saw him, but he was just having a drink at the bar when I left.” That was true, but Swindle had seen Dirge speaking with Dead End, and he'd heard disturbing rumors about that sports-model. But he'd been irritated Dirge followed him and had wanted to seal his deal, so he'd left.

“And you have no leads at all? Didn't see him talk to anyone? Don't know if he was overcharged or not?”

“Someone took a header here,” Swindle said. Drones had still not repaired the large depression in the roadway, though someone had dropped a few reflective beacons about the area.

“You evaded my question. But, if it has anything to do with finding Dirge, I think the one who fell here was designated Motormaster, some kind of truck. I heard just a little from Skywarp and Starscream.”

Not so good, Swindle thought. “What happened?”

Slipstream did not answer immediately, but watched Swindle walk quickly into an alleyway and take a look around, apparently checking the adjacent walls and ground for some type of evidence. “You think Dirge is dead.”

“No,” Not definitely, anyway. He hoped not. He'd take a price out of someone, if they had harmed Dirge, except he couldn't decide on any price that was a fair trade for losing Dirge. “Tell me what happened with Motormaster.”

Slipstream told Swindle what she had heard, that Motormaster had been trying to gain entry into The Bird Cage and had been stopped by Barricade. He had possibly mistaken Red Alert for another sport-model, or just fixated upon her as an Autobot. In defense she had thrown him from the skywalk, but Skywarp had saved him, only to toss him back down himself, later. Coincidentally, Red Alert and Ramjet had left The Bird Cage with Breakdown, who was probably the one Motormaster had been trying to get in to find.

“Those two: Motormaster and Breakdown, are Stunticons,” Swindle explained, “Their team doesn't have a really great reputation, even among Decepticons.”

“Are you telling me that these Stunticons would target Dirge because he's associated with Red Alert and Skywarp? Like some kind of underworld gang retaliation?”

“I saw him talk to one.” Swindle walked into the next square in his grid and tried to think where Dirge would have been likely to go, or where Someone like Dead End or Motormaster might have taken him.

“Could you at least try to be honest with me?” Slipstream asked, “I am right here. I see you checking alleys and recycling containers. I don't see you knocking on doors or checking dive hotels with rest rates or-”

“I saw Dirge with Dead End!” Swindle shouted. “I had heard rumors about him, about what he does to other mechs, but my deal was important...I told myself Dirge could take care of himself. I left.”

“I refuse to feel sorry for you because you feel guilty about this. In fact, if Dirge is in real trouble, I will blame you. Now, if this Dead End is your suspect, then you tell me what you know about him. I'll pull the rest from the local datanet. We can use what we know about the two of them to theorize where they would have gone.”

“What do you think I am trying to do?”

“Tell me.”

“I heard that Dead End has some vampiric tendencies. He's dark, nihilistic, but not suicidal. He'll steal fuel to continue his pathetic life. That's the rumor, anyway.”

“So he's spooky, craves fuel, and hangs out in grounder oilhouses, hoping for someone to buy him drinks, or if not, maybe leave with him so he can find another means to get a drink out of them?”

“Yeah.”

“And he's got an overbearing team leader who doesn't like his mechs going off alone without his permission. Maybe the reason he's low all the time is because he's been put on strict rations to keep him close.”

“It's all speculation. How is that supposed to help us find Dirge?”

“Because, genius, you fail to understand your market.”

“The market.” Swindle got it. A salesmech had to understand the client's wants, their background and point of view to come up with a truly persuasive pitch. “Dirge is younger, he wants what the rest of you have. He's eager and greedy. His ability is inspiring fear in others, but generally, fear can be used to control or threaten, but not to make friends. This makes him sad.”

“Yes, because he wants to belong, to have the status that he sees us have. But he wants it now, without waiting. He wants you, Swindle, not that I understand why. And if you ignore him, he will do completely stupid things to get your attention, or prove to you that he can fit-in.”

“And Dead End? He wants to feel something besides emptiness?”

“We should have had Sunstorm with us,” Slipstream said, he would have figured this out already. “It's just a theory, but considering the two spooky, rebellious young mechs were last seen together, then we need to look in a place they would have gone.”

“Secluded,” Swindle said. Whether it was an exchange of bodily fluids, or intensely pleasurable sensory overload, they'd need some small privacy. Swindle felt Dirge's hands ghost over his shell. He would not believe Dirge was dead; it was just a phantom sensation, a memory. The Kid had been haunting him for decacycles, and confirmed alive and well during most of that time. Alleys were not their style. He should have guessed. Dirge always wanted more, or better. “Somewhere others do not go for the same purpose. Special. Only theirs.”

“Dark,” Slipstream said, “spooky at night. I don't suppose New Kaon is an old enough colony to have a proper crypt?”

The night before, Dirge and Dead End had stood on the same street corner debating where to go. They had talked a little, exchanged designations and comm schemes, then Dirge had bought Dead End some energon. When Dirge had seen Swindle leaving with the Commandos and overheard some mention of a communal wash facility, he had been irritated. He asked Dead End if he would like to leave with him, soon after. Dead End had agreed.

“I would like to have your company a while longer, but my place is in some disarray now,” Dirge said, “do you have a place?”

Dead End skated back and forth on his rear wheels, which like Dirge's thrusters served as his heels in root mode. He looked up and down the street before answering. “Yes, but the others there are not very cool.”

“We can go out somewhere. Somewhere we can have all to ourselves.”

“I might know a place, it's a bit of a drive, but maybe you can fly us there, if you have the fuel.”

“I have fuel. Just give me the coordinates.” Dirge saw Dead End put his mask back over his mouth; he had removed it to drink. Dirge was sure the mask was useful in filtering out exhaust and road dust, especially considering the sports-model's transformation scheme tucked the front of his body close to the road when in alt-mode. “You'll breathe higher air from here on out,” he said, and offered a hand.

Dead End climbed up onto Dirge's feet, shifting the position of his leg joints so that each leg lengthened and he stepped lightly on his toe-stops. “Up here,” Dirge said, deploying the landing gear from the front of his shin armor, “It's safer if you are not right on the thrusters.” Dirge shifted his hold on Dead End, putting his claws beneath Dead End's arms to spot him. Dead End climbed further up, balancing his weight with his toe-stops atop Dirge's landing gear struts, and settling his hands on Dirge's shoulders.

Dirge smirked, slightly, trying not to look too smug. “You are even higher than me, now,” he said, looking up at Dead End's masked and visored faceplate. This position put Dead End's grill right up against the top of Dirge's canopy, anticipation was pulsing through their fields. Dirge settled his claws about Dead End's slender midsection to support his weight, and took off.

Dirge had never carried another in flight like this, and now this experience too was his. It was more difficult to maneuver in the air with a passenger, because he was so inexperienced, but it was rewarding to see how Dead End was effected. He sent a comm, to be heard of the rush of air. 'It's like driving fast, with no traffic, no obstacles...a full tank...like freedom.'

'The right of all Decepticons!' Dirge said, 'You want me to go higher? Faster?' More altitude. More speed. They would be his.

'No. This is enough. We are very high up.' Dead End tightened his grasp on Dirge's shoulders.

Dirge shifted his wing parts to steer and made for the coordinates Dead End had sent. They set down on a wide roadway, not very far from the command quarters, and beside a tall building with many visible balconies and ledges. It was clearly housing for some manner of fliers.

“The entrance is around back,” Dead End said, as Dirge set him on the ground, “I found it once when I was trying to shake a tail.”

Dirge laughed.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“Shake a tail,” Dirge said. He leaned forward and wagged his hips.

Dead End laughed. “It's what we say when we are trying to evade another who is in pursuit.”

“Your jargon is fascinating. You must teach me more, so I can have the knowledge.”

“You mean like 'burn rubber'? 'peel out'?”

“Burn rubber is to spin your wheels and tires and is associated with acceleration or speed in some fashion.”

“That's one way of putting it. Let's go inside.” Dead End pointed out the way. Dirge followed, along the facade of a building and then through a tall door, taller even that a Seeker, and down a series of interior steps and ramps. Dirge did not recognize this type of chamber immediately. It was not of metal, glass and lightweight composites like tall buildings made for fliers. This underground chamber was constructed of stone, with highly polished surfaces.

At the lowest point, the passage gave way to a grand chamber, and Dirge recognized it then as a memorial hall, with large stone or cast metal markers of deceased Decepticons and sacred flames burning in honor of the fallen.

This experience, too, was now his. “You come here often?” Dirge asked.

“Yes.”

“It's beautiful work. I thought maybe in a refugee colony, there would not be time or resources, but it was important to someone to honor these Decepticons.”

“Oh. I'm told that out in space it is a problem for many Decepticons: finding energy. Here, the planet is only recently cyberformed; it is still in the process. There are plenty of resources...the distribution of energy though, is another thing.”

“Let's find a place to sit and talk,” Dirge suggested.

“First, I want to show you something.” Dead End shifted his leg joints and dropped from his stops, back onto his wheels. He skated along the row of markers until he came to a particular one. He spun, then turned his wheels against his direction of movement, neatly breaking without use of his toe-stops.

“I like the way you move,” Dirge said, “Do many grounders move that way?” He walked toward Dead End, turbine heels clicking against polished stone.

“Some,” Dead End answered, gaze fixed on the marker.

It looked like a Seeker, maybe an older model with a indigenous Cybertronian alt-mode, and a cone-shaped helm. Dirge read the designation on the marker: Dirge.

“Is it an ancestor?” Dead End asked.

“I am uncertain,” Dirge said, “I am actually a clone.”

“What do you mean? You're not like a drone. You're individual, sentient. I can feel your spark.”

Dirge looked down at Dead End. “I'm all those things, just as you said, but I was created with cloning technology, based on another Seeker: my template. Do they have cloned drones here?”

“The Imperials,” Dead End whispered. “They have all kinds of experiments going on.”

“I heard rumours, but we are not to judge before we learn what is being done.”

“You are not frightened, here?”

“By Imperials, or the memorial markers?” Dirge asked. Or, maybe Dead End meant himself. “No, I am not afraid. Other things usually fear me.” He saw Dead End's optics flicker curiously. “I think this mech needs a proper lament.” Dirge started his engines and let the mournful tuning sing. The acoustics of the chamber seemed to intensify the effect, which was designed to function when speeding through atmosphere.

Dead End moved close and stood on his toe-stops, straightening to his full height and pressing his legs against Dirge's to feel the vibration itself.

Dirge shut down his engines. “You are not frightened?”

“Others things usually fear me.” Dead End removed his mask again, exposing pouting lip plates.

Dirge sat down, unfurling swallowtails and stretching out his legs to make himself comfortable. He offered a hand to Dead End, who took it. He looked down at Dirge for a moment and then stepped into the space between Dirge's legs and adjusted his joints again, so that he knelt with his weight distributed by toe-stops and shin-stilts.

“You're like a moth,” Dirge said.

“What is 'moth'?” Dead End asked, leaning weight into Dirge, their chests touching.

“A creature on a planet I visited briefly,” Dirge said. “It is nocturnal, delicate, winged.” He lifted his claws to the underside of Dead End's right door-wing. “It has sensitive, complicated antennae.” His left hand scraped lightly at the arc of tinted glass over Dead End's right shoulder. “There is a saying I am not certain I can translate literally to Decepticon, but which means the moth is a being attracted to a bright source of energy which is possibly it's doom.”

“It has poetry, when you say it.”

“And it has big bug eyes,” Dirge said, laughing softly.

Dead End removed his visor. “These come off. And yours? Do you need them to see?”

Dirge sometimes forgot he wore the spectacles. “Not to see,” he said. He felt better wearing his spectacles. Scalpel wore spectacles, and several famous Autobots he had seen: a scientist on a news program and that blue one related to Red Alert. Dirge wanted to be viewed as smart or famous, too. He removed the pair of specs and quickly subspaced them. “You have pretty eyes,” Dirge said when he looked at Dead End again. His eyes were sharp and red and artfully lined in black. “Why do you hide your eyes?”

“Because they are too pretty,” Dead End explained in monotone. He put his claws to the crooks of Dirge's arms and leaned in to put his mouth near Dirge's throat. “I want to taste.”

Dirge answered by pressing his mouth to Dead End's. His taste was outstanding! Dirge did not know quite how to define its quality. All that came to his processor was: energon cooked on a spoon. 

Swindle ran from the Temple of Decepticon Wizardry, sure Mindwipe was going to put a curse on him, and transformed; wheels spinning even before he hit the road he took off with the squeal of burning rubber. He commed Slipstream, 'No joy on the last temple. Find Anything?'

She answered, 'Nothing in the grounder crypts we checked, but I think this next one may be it: a recently completed memorial hall below the central fliers barracks. Local Security's network logged a complaint of “haunting” last night, including fearful ghostly sounds, which they did not bother to investigate, because past complaints at that location had been found to be nothing more than “pleasure seekers looking for privacy”.'

'En route!' Swindle commed. He spun a 180 and then accelerated hard, backtracking toward downtown New Kaon. He knew the location of the flier barracks. They were practically in the shadow of the command quarters. If Dirge was there, he'd spent the night so close to his fellow Seekers and yet undiscovered.

Unassisted.

Swindle broke hard as he came to the flier's barracks. He scanned the area as he transformed. There was an anomalous signal coming from one side of the building. Swindle ran around the corner to investigate and found a miniscule robot slowly dancing to wretched, mournful sounding music. Earth tech! A toy with dying batteries. 'He was here! Maybe he still is. Searching now. Hurry!'

Swindle entered the tall doorway and ran along the dim winding passage of steps and ramps. “Dirge! Give me a sign, Kid!”

The memories continued to flash in Dirge's fading spark: the last memories. “Do you want my spark?” Dead End asked.

“Yes,” Dirge said eagerly, but then caught Dead End's claws before he could open his chamber. “That is, I would be honored, if that is something you wish to give me freely, willingly.”

“What does it matter?” Dead End asked, “Take what you want.”

“It matters!” Dirge assured Dead End, who he hoped was his new friend. “There was a time I did not appreciate having a spark, but someone I trust told me, 'A spark's nothing to sneer at! That prospect of deactivation is what makes one feel alive.' And, I also think, it is the one thing that we can all say from the start is truly our own. You can give it away to another, and yet it is still entirely yours. You are not some enemy combatant that I can just claim and crush your spark, Dead End. I truly would be pleased to have the experience of knowing your very essence, if you can say I am the one you want to share yourself with, now.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Dead End whispered, “You're smart, Dirge.”

“I like you,” Dirge said, “You are very special. I've never had a sports-model before.”

“No?”

“You're my first,” Dirge whispered. “Maybe another time, when we know each other better, maybe then you will really be sure you want to give me your spark.”

“Another time?”

“I-I'm sorry. I should not have assumed. Not everyone is comfortable with attachment, or-”

“I like how it sounds,” Dead End said, “You would really look forward to being with me?”

“Sure I would!” Dirge said earnestly, “Even if you just wanted to sit and talk some more, that would be all right. You could teach me some more jargon.”

“It sounds nice,” Dead End said in dispassionate monotone. “You aren't making fun of me?”

“No. I desire you. But, I have been taught to use good manners and not to let my own greed control me. I understand some things are even better if received and given willingly.”

“Dirge,” Dead End whispered, “I am so empty.”

“No, you're not.”

“I am. I'm so thirsty, Dirge.” His claws dug at Dirge's arms.

Dirge reached into subspace for a few energon cubes he had saved. “I'll give you these.”

Dead End gobbled the energon right from Dirge's claws. “More,” he said. “Need you.”

“I-I understand. You need my energon.”

“There's not much time. We can't be seen.”

“Seen by whom?”

“Dirge!” Swindle shouted. He saw the Kid lying on the stone floor in the dim light of the sacred flames. Swindle ran to him and knelt at his side. His shell was going grey. “Dirge! No!” Swindle opened Dirge's canopy. He saw the tiny human-scaled controls and seat inside. He knew there was a way to shift these parts to view the spark chamber behind. He felt around inside the cockpit until he found the manual release latch. The seat folded out of the way, revealing a panel, which slid open.

Cha-ching; Dirge's spark was still burning! Though it was faint and flickering, Swindle was overjoyed to see it. “Hang on, Kid,” Swindle told him. The delicate gold-colored spark seemed to respond with a slight movement, though Swindle could not say he actually saw it move with his optics. “Dirge. Stay with me.”

“Forget it. It's too late already,” Dead End said mournfully.

“Next time, we'll go on a proper date and I'll buy you enough energon to fill your tank,” Dirge said. He tipped his head to expose the lines and cables along his neck, between sections of plating.

Dead End leaned in and pierced a Dirge's main fuel line with his small fangs.

“What can I do?” Swindle asked aloud, though Dirge was unresponsive. He did not know if Dirge could hear. His optics were unshuttered, but completely dark. He could only think of one thing. Swindle concentrated a millicycle and opened the layers of glass and metal panels to reveal his own spark.

Swindle did not feel prepared for this, on any level. “This isn't how I wanted to do it, Kid.” He was not emotionally or mentally prepared to expose himself to a flood of raw emotion, or reveal the bare truth and all his secrets. It had been a long time since Swindle had been either desperate or trusting enough to expose his spark to another; he wasn't sure how long he could last in a merge with Dirge. Swindle felt the tug on his spark, pulled as if by a gravitational force toward the other. He chuckled sadly to himself; if he'd known this was going to happen, he would have been more tempted to invest in a little something to boost his endurance.

Slipstream and Vortex entered the memorial hall together and found Swindle in a spark merge with an unresponsive Dirge. “What the slag are-?”

Vortex tugged on Slipstream's arm. “He's doing it as an emergency medical procedure. Swindle's supporting Dirge's spark with his own. We need to tend to Dirge quickly, so Swindle will be able to separate.”

“This is really weird,” Slipstream said, but quickly dropped down to one side of the two reclining mechs, as Vortex did the other.

Vortex put his hand over Swindle's, where it lay loosely over Dirge's gauntlet. And tried to focus on positive, supportive things. He could feel the both of them when he was in contact with Swindle. “Hey, Partner, you and the Kid hang on. We are just here to fix his shell for ya.” Vortex then quickly withdrew his hand.

“How was it?” Slipstream whispered, trying to avert her gaze from the dancing gold and purple sparks, as she took essential supplies from the emergency repair kit. 

'They are so slaggin' in love, but in a way you probably don't want to know.'

'Oh, thanks!' Slipstream commed back, 'I have to connect to run the diagnostic program!' Slipstream tried one of Dirge's ports, she received nothing. “Port's dead. He's....He wouldn't have made it without Swindle.”

Vortex gave a sharp nod. “I see some marks on his arm and neck here.”

Slipstream passed some tapes and adhesives over the joined pair. “Self repair systems are down through most of his shell. See what you can do to patch. We can't afford to have what energon we can pump in bleed out.”

“Gotcha.” They worked silently for a while. Red Alert had offered to come, but it was her special day, so Slipstream had refused. Scalpel had been with Skywarp and Thundercracker, but Starscream had not yet seen fit to disturb Thundercracker with the news that there may or may not be a Imperial and/or Decepticon plot to remove the entire prison, in which Megatron, Galvatron and cohorts were incarcerated, from Cybertron. So, they were relying on Slipstream and Vortex's basic knowledge of repair. Slipstream administered a nanoagent to Swindle.

“What was that for?” Vortex asked.

“You don't want to know.” Slipstream patched the minor scratches on the arm nearest her, and then started the flow of energon from the portable, gravity fed tank into a fuel line in Dirge's right arm.

They waited. Slipstream started to get signals from the i/o cable acknowledging a working connection. She moved around Dirge's systems as little as possible and initiated his own diagnostic program. Still, just being connected she had a sense of what was shared between Dirge and Swindle. It was nothing she felt should should have to share.

'They are not bonding, are they?' Vortex commed after a while.

'I don't think so. Not that I am trying to look, but I think the sparks move in very specific sync to form a bond and they are-' Slipstream could not believe she was even thinking this – 'mixing the rhythm up a bit.' Vortex's visor happened to look right at her, and Slipstream had a sudden and awkward feeling that he might be attracted to her. “Oh, God!' she cried, and she did not even believe in gods, really.

Swindle moaned, finally separated from Dirge, and lifted himself up on trembling arms. “Frag me!” he swore and promptly fell back down, lying quietly with his head aside Dirge's cockpit.

The diagnostic program finally responded, alerting Slipstream that Dirge was still low on fuel, and had a number of subsystems down, including self-repair, but was very much alive with functional CPU. Slipstream gratefully disconnected, telling herself she was going to scrub that cable before ever using it again.

Dirge's spark chamber sealed itself, and then he spoke, “That was an experience not many mechanisms have!”

“And we are none of us going to speak of it ever again,” Vortex said menacingly.


	33. Now with Added 'X'

Lord Governor Straxus glared menacingly at the lowly Decepticon soldier serving as his aide. Once, he had ruled over the bustling city-state of Polyhex on Cybertron. He had been feared; had real power. Now he was administrator of a refugee colony in this backwater arm of the galaxy. He lacked the threat of the smelting pools, and with it fearfulness capable of insuring his continued control over the colony. The elitist Constructicons of the Decepticon Engineering Corps insisted the pools were needed for actual cyberforming and materials production and could not be tainted with scrap parts of unknown origin. And, not actually being expert in metallurgy or engineering, Straxus was not quite certain he could call their bluff, if it be one.

He was viewed as some manner of 'middle-management' by the Imperials – he did not dare oppose them. Straxus understood the precariousness of his position as liaison between the Cybertronian Empire and the Decepticon faction; as soon as one power believed he could not influence the other toward their ends, he was lost. He clung to the small measure of power he had, and plotted means of either gaining real power again, or making an escape. But secretly, everything secret, lest one side scent his own fear and move in for the kill.

Without strong leadership among the Decepticon ranks, the various cell and special teams leaders were often set against each other and interested firstly in the welfare of their own group; they were not unified as a force for any faction or cause any longer. A measure of this was how many sent him reports on datapads without deigning to visit, as if they had better things to do than meet their Lord Governor. Only one team, the Decepticon Secret Police, consistently sent a representative to him, and it was always a Lieutenant, not their Chief. Straxus had to assume this was their way of overtly letting him know he was being observed; their true monitoring was much more stealthy.

“Send her in,” Straxus said to the soldier.

The soldier, Crosscut, activated the door and stood still and straight as Lieutenant Howlback stalked past. Straxus stood calmly in his receiving chamber. He watched the feline-form Decepticon slink into the room, midnight-blue plating seeming to draw shadows and narrow amber optics focused on the Lord Governor. The Lieutenant was not half as intimidating as her Chief, whatever their relationship actually was: siblings, genetrix and offspring, consorts; Straxus did not know. They each put him ill at ease. 

“Lord Governor,” Howlback said, and stretched her neck and forelimbs forward to make an elegant bow. The optics, however, never seemed to lower enough to put him outside her field of vision. The Lieutenant lifted her head and sat back, seemingly at ease.

“You may report,” Straxus said in his best commanding tone.

“As you wish, My Lord,” Howlback said in that low register purr. “Do you have any concerns or queries of priority?”

Testing for a response to the sudden arrival of seven seekers, reportedly with an Autobot in tow, along with several returning Decepticons, including his Ace/Assault team, Straxus thought. He gestured to the collection of datapads. “Other team leaders have reported on the arrival of these Seekers, even how they have taken the command quarters at Darkspire. Which one would the Secret Police wish to corroborate? You may as well report as usual. Which team leader is scheming against another now?” In times past the faction had been divided over which leader would be followed, now they separated along alt-mode or function lines.

“None worth mentioning, only those I am certain your other informants corroborate,” Howlback retorted, “Whether they are with him or not, the fliers are all waiting to see what Starscream will do. With their schemes on hold, there is little to report. There does, coincidentally seem to be a rise in reports of haunting, vampirism and temple desecration.”

“All hoaxes and superstition says Rumble's report.”

Howlback said nothing to this. Rumble had achieved his position of head of the Enforcers charged with local security in New Kaon – the Less-Secret Police – due to changing allegiances or imprisonment of his betters, but Howlback had no personal motive to discredit Rumble before the Governor.

“A relative of yours, is he not?”

“I am Decepticon, I see no other ties or bonds before loyalty to the faction.”

A clever answer, Straxus thought, if there were truly a faction any longer. Howlback had neither confirmed or denied connection. Straxus could be both patient and observant; Jhiaxus was interested in Ravage's progeny, if only to understand whether she had knowledge of Imperial ways or perhaps had similar secrets of her own. For all that the Decepticons were dwindling, and Imperials tried to cover the lack of diversity in their later generations, Ravage's offspring, or those that were suspected to be so, seemed to multiply and prosper. “And what have the Secret Police determined of Starscream's loyalties? It is him, I take it, not a clone or imposter?”

“It is Starscream come to New Kaon,” Howlback answered, “Our Chief determined this. Those with him, however, are clones; not any lost, rediscovered, or resurrected group of Seekers. We have not yet determined the particular technology or circumstance that gives them individual appearance and abilities. I understand our Medi-Corps are looking into it.” Such as they were. Even Autobots knew Decepticons traditionally showed little use for medibots. It was against their 'survival of the fittest' culture to look for what they had once disparagingly termed crutches, but as their number dwindled, and cheating had always been looked on favorably, many now sought medical fixes, and rationalized it as taking an unfair advantage in the game of survival. Most medical practice was still in the hands of moonlighting engineers, wizards, chemists or interrogators, but two of Howlback's kin happened to have actual training in Cybertronian medical practices. 

The report was starting to go a little beyond Straxus' level of technical knowledge. He needed to understand the political motives; the threat. “Then who are the templates for the clones?”

“There is but one template, which is why the apparent individuality is somewhat remarkable. All use Starscream as a template, share his form and even his current alien alt-mode, but have individual personalities, skills and abilities. We have some confirmation that Starscream had access to pieces of the AllSpark. Our agents report it is now on Cybertron, apparently whole and functional, after the previous dispersal. This could be a factor in their nature.”

“We have heard these reports before. Earth. Events there involving Megatron.” Straxus pronounced the alien designation for the planet carefully. “Have your agents determined anything of political import? Allegiances? Weaknesses? Motivations? I heard they have an Autobot.”

“Yes. The Chief saw her, a femme.” Ravage had seen much about Red Alert, but advised Howlback only that Straxus did not need to know more than he would expect to know, which was The Chief's way of delegating the decision and testing Howlback. She tested constantly, always pushing, manipulating. Howlback was old enough to understand it was for their good, to make them better, smarter and stronger, but it was still a trial. “She is probably a spy, but leave her to us, My Lord, my partner is taking the usual precautions.”

“I trust Garboil at his duty of course,” Straxus said, looking to the high ceiling and at the shapes of shadows to see if Howlback's partner was near; he often was. Straxus was a career politician, but even he did not understand how their expert in disinformation could talk so much without saying anything. Straxus was for executing spies upon suspicion, but the Secret Police encouraged him to allow them to work with Autobot spies to feed them false information.

“As for the Seeker clones, the Chief thought you might be interested to know one among them is a also a femme, designated Slipstream.”

For a klik Straxus did not answer, or even move or speak. Howlback noted this reaction. “Slipstream is dead.”

“Yes. This femme merely shares the designation. We have determined all but one share designations, and in a few cases colors, with previously deceased Seekers, those who died in the Great War, or shortly before. There is no evidence their sparks are resurrected. This is only the case with Starscream himself.” Howlback could see Straxus did not comprehend. “You may think them like newsparks, or rather younglings, in adult frames, who merely share designation or likeness with honored dead.”

Straxus understood. This was not, actually, a very unusual practice. Starscream having such cloning technology was news of import, but the fact that designations were recycled was common. Still: Slipstream. He had known her: silvery temptress come to them from the Cybertronian Empire with sympathetic tale of being from a lost faction that departed Cybertron ages ago; promises of friendship trade in advanced technologies, and perhaps something more. Femmes had been even more rare then, and a femme Seeker unheard of.

Straxus had not been alone in desiring her: her alliance, her technology and knowledge, her bond as mate. In his mind, she had used them all, teased, led astray, manipulated, played them at odds. But officially, she had belonged to that sentimental fool Thundercracker and that idiot thug Skywarp.

Starscream was so like her. Megatron might be blind to it, and Starscream unconscious of it, but the Air Commander was so like the femme who had created him, with his stunning sleek form, ease with advanced mechological and chemicological sciences, and flexible allegiances. Defiant crimson optics.

Was the cloned femme, as a copy of Starscream, who so took after his creator, then also like her namesake?

“Crosscut!'

“Lord Governor!” the soldier replied, snapping to attention.

“Send a message to Darkspire granting Starscream and his clones an audience with their Lord Governor.”

“Today?”

Straxus raised his axe and glared. “Do you presume to question my orders, soldier?”

“Sir, no, Sir, it's just they won't come. They are having a party there, at Darkspire-” Crosscut lost all ability to vocalize as Straxus quickly beheaded him with an axe.

“I will get someone to clean up this mess,” Straxus said, “Excuse me, Lieutenant.” Straxus went to a storage closet and activated the door. It slid open with a low hiss, revealing a row of stasis pods within. Straxus opened the first pod in the row. The mech within looked remarkably like the one he had just beheaded.

As the reactivation cycle completed the mech came online, red optics lit, “Crosscut reporting for duty, Lord Governor.”

Starscream was not the only one with a clone army.

As Straxus was receiving his reports of Starscream's activity, Starscream and his loyal subjects – as they at least pretended to be – were completing preparation for their celebration in honor of Ramjet and Red Alert's bond. Slipstream and Vortex came in through the landing bay, transformed and hurried along the corridor. Starscream and Red Alert were loitering, seemingly together, near the doors to several of the rest chambers.

“Where are they?” Starscream asked.

Slipstream missed an opportunity to tease Starscream for his concern. “Dirge is coming with Swindle in the lift. I need to wash.”

“Me, too,” Vortex said and then added, “Not that I meant together, just-”

Slipstream huffed through her vents. “I'll ask Thundercracker if he'll let me use his facilities; he usually thinks me worthy enough. But, should I ask why the two of you are loitering together in front of my chamber?”

“Maybe I was preparing a surprise,” Starscream said.

“Oh, I am sure you were.” Slipstream tried not to imagine what.

“We're waiting to see if there is a reply from Cybertron,” Red Alert said honestly. Slipstream had earlier voiced her permission to use the comm terminal within.

Vortex excused himself and continued to the officers wash facilities, which the quarters designed for lower ranked officers shared. It was a little nicer than what common soldiers would have, but not as private as those of higher ranked Decepticons. None were as nice as Autobots on Cybertron had. Only Thundercracker's quarters included an oil bath.

“You contacted them?” Slipstream asked, forgetting for the moment how soiled she felt.

“Of course, I had to explain to my real lover what a sham my union with Ramjet is and what a powerful will I have to manage a bond without him knowing my true allegiance or motives.”

“You will have to remain in character whenever you speak with Cybertron,” Slipstream said, “Given that show earlier, I would bet on the Secret Police being the ones monitoring the hardlines. I need to wash.”

“Do you-?” Starscream started.

“No!” Slipstream insisted, not even listening to the complete query. She slipped past; Starscream still managed to graze the atmosphere of her wing with his, as she pressed through the corridor. Thundercracker's quarters were up a short flight of stairs and at the southeast corner of the tower. Slipstream knocked and was admitted.

“She loves me,” Starscream said confidently. Pit if he didn't want to be in that bath with her, though. He looked away from Thundercracker's door and back to Red Alert. “It is your special day, you should not be dealing with this intrigue.”

“Ramjet understands. I would feel badly if later any potential threats were realized and I knew I had done nothing.”

“Go. Guests will be arriving. If they comm, I would not mind speaking to Rodimus for you.”

“Really?”

“Maybe I'll request a conversation with Perceptor, have a little discussion about those flying Autobots.”

“You need to let that go. As if Decepticons never stole tech through studying captured enemy combatants? Besides, The Science Council no longer has any direct control over those two. They are members of the Elite Guard under Sentinel.”

“Sentinel,” Starscream said as if fond, “And is the old bot off spark-support yet?”

“Ultra Magnus is. You can get that from a public datanet. He's now officially retired from his post, so Sentinel is now Magnus, no longer merely acting in Ultra Magnus' stead.”

Starscream snickered. “Sentinel? The one who paid Lockdown to capture Decepticons so he could take the credit? He's now the actual and official leader of the Autobots?”

Red Alert grimaced. “Yes.”

“He makes our cause so much the nobler in comparison.” Starscream sighed, “I will monitor the comms, or have someone we trust do it,” he said more seriously, “enjoy your celebration. You are the one who believes there are times when we can transcend factions.”

“Yes, but I have no way of knowing if this is one of those times.”

“Well, you will have Ramjet at your side,” Starscream said fondly, “He truly cares for you, and he's too slagging 'Ramjet' to care what anyone else thinks about brands or factions or whether his pursuit of happiness agrees with their politics.”

Red Alert leaned against Starscream in a light embrace. “If you believe she is the one, do not mess it up,” she whispered.

Behind Starscream, Swindle and Dirge came from the direction of the main turbolift.

“Working on it,” Starscream said to Red Alert. He waited for Red Alert to leave him and then reached out and snagged Dirge by a wingtip as he was attempting to skulk past without notice.

“My wing!”

“Hello, Dirge,” Starscream grated. He glared across Dirge's writhing form to Swindle. Swindle tried a cheesy disarming grin and then touched his helm.

“Comm. Gotta take this. Business, you know.” He quickly slipped past, in the direction of the officers wash facilities. “Yes, I understand the device came with a lifetime guarantee; the device is guaranteed to function for the duration of its lifetime...the fact that it is not functioning indicates that its lifetime, and the guarantee with it, has expired...should you wish a replacement, however...”

“Swindle, you submissive piece of scrap! Stand by your mech! Get my back! Do something!” Dirge called as Starscream pinched his wingtip between sharp claws.

“Your wish is a deal a spark breaks,” Swindle sang in parody of a line from a recharge tale. Vortex could briefly be heard cursing as Swindle disappeared into the wash room. 

“Coward,” Dirge spat.

Starscream released Dirge's wing. Swindle was not really a coward, but he was a survivor, much older than Dirge and knew better than to cross Starscream. “Thundercracker said I could deal with you,” Starscream informed Dirge.

“How generous of him to give you authority, My Liege, My creator,” Dirge said, sweet and flattering now, yet cruel in insinuating Starscream needed to be handed authority by others. He was consistent in his greed, but would attempt any means of attaining what he wanted. Starscream supposed he was recently introspective enough to see where Dirge got this manner.

“He did not find you worthy of his attention. You are lucky to have my attention.”

Dirge's optics narrowed; his posture became defensive, with wings and limbs drawn back. “I nearly lost my life!”

“You foolishly risked your life and the function of your team, which depends on you doing your part, and apparently over something so trivial as juvenile, attention-seeking, jealous flirtation and indulgence in shallow pleasures.”

“Well, it worked,” Dirge said, smug in tone and facial expression, though his posture still read as defensive. “Dead End was so sweet, and Swindle realized he would hate to lose me so much that he merged his spark with mine.”

“Oh, I guessed at that. Traumatized the retrieval team I dispatched to give you aid, when they had to witness it.”

Dirge bravely changed the subject. “You never did it. You did not have that experience.”

“How do you really know?” Starscream demanded, “And, such activity has been discouraged among Decepticons.”

“But I've no memory of it. Maybe you wanted to find a way, but you couldn't. Maybe you really wanted to bare your spark to Megatron, but he would not give you enough attention!”

Starscream nearly backhanded Dirge, but restrained his hand and his emotion in time. Still, there was movement enough that Dirge perceived the response that was repressed and the emotion he had invoked. “You are out of line, Seeker,” Starscream said coldly, “for that and for being AWOL this morning, I have decided your punishment. It shall now be your own personal experience to know the horrific tediousness of monitor duty.”

“Monitor duty?” Dirge whispered fearfully.

Starscream smirked and opened the door to Slipstream's room. He made a flourish of one hand, gesturing for Dirge to enter.

“It is My Sister's quarters, correct?”

“Yes, but having just moved into the command quarters, no one has yet secured the communications in the actual command and operations decks on the lower levels, so My Intended has temporarily allowed us all use of the terminals here.” Starscream imitated Dirge's particular emphasis of the possessives.

Dirge had missed a few things, he thought, as he entered Slipstream's chamber. None of the Seeker clones had been planet-side long, but Dirge realized the others had spent more time within Darkspire now, than he had. “Are you actually courting now?” he asked, casually as he could, wanting the information. Dirge continued to the bank of devices that provided connection to internal and external communications and data networks.

“You missed that experience while out picking-up strays.”

Dirge sat in one of the task chairs before the equipment. This room was similar in design to the one he had claimed the day before. The fold-out berth was in a similar position along a wall adjacent to a window. The workspace was divided from recharge and wash/maintenance areas only by a thin, mobile partition. The wash facilities were limited and seemed likely designed for use in 'refreshing' before duty, whereas thorough cleaning would require the use of the communal facility.

“I thought maybe you would like to claim the room I did, but I was here earlier, yesterday. Are you sharing this room?”

“No,” Starscream answered honestly, sitting on the edge of Slipstream's berth. “It would not really be your business, if I were.”

“Maybe it is my business, if I think you are not worthy of My Sister.”

“Thundercracker has already claimed that duty for himself: monitoring everyone's honor and public decency.”

“Why are you courting her?”

“Why should I not?”

That sounded like something Slipstream would say, Dirge thought. “We thought you more the type to wish to be pursued, play hard to get, and then get short-tempered when you did not received the attention and continued pursuit you desired.”

“It is true I was,” Starscream admitted. “I notice that when you do not get what your own greedy spark desires, you are capable of trying a new tactic.”

“I have many skills, as you should know. Just because we each originally showed one trait most strongly, that does not mean any one of us has ever lacked one of your traits.”

“It is just like that. I am also capable of trying new tactics.”

“After much repetition of the same old tactic, failure and even death,” Dirge said with a little of Ramjet's snarky tone, which was to say Starscream's snarky tone.

Starscream smiled, mostly to himself. “As one who has been so near death himself, perhaps you can understand.”

“I saw my life flash before my optics,” Dirge whispered solemnly.

“Yes.” Starscream could recall similar experiences in his past. “I will tell you something, Dirge, I am discovering true appreciation for you, for all my clones. This experience is something like looking at a recording or reflection of oneself and becoming suddenly aware of a flaw. It is at first disappointing, or embarrassing, or just annoying. But, the fact that this happens at all has vast usefulness. The effect of looking at any one of you and perceiving some part of myself enables me to judge what I see more objectively than I could, certain that I was actually looking at myself. I can see one of you fail, analyze why the failure may have occurred, and have some ability to apply that learning to my own future decisions.”

“Any of us can do that. Thundercracker does it all the time; we hear him talk about it. He spends cycles just sitting still and looking thoughtful, but he's reviewing memories from your life and analyzing all your missteps.”

“Before you existed, I had no one that was so like me, and yet not me, that I could summon enough objectivity to analyze those mistakes. It was annoying at first, and then enlightening as I realized the advantage, and now it is often very amusing. I know that you and Thundercracker in particular are driven to attain more than I have, in your own ways. I do wish you luck, but be aware, I am now a competitor in the same game. You will have to work very hard to surpass me, now.”

“Monitor duty?” Dirge asked.

“I will have someone bring you some treats from the party, so you do not miss out on the festivities entirely. And, if Thundercracker and I both agree you are well behaved in performing your assigned punishment, I will suggest we have someone relieve you later, so you may attend Your Brother's celebration.” Starscream quickly commed Thundercracker to inform him of the terms of Dirge's punishment. He received only a simple confirmation ping in reply.

A short while later, Slipstream let herself into the room, as Starscream was discussing with Dirge what action to take should any incoming comms from Autobots on Cybertron be received. Slipstream set several cubes of energon and a can of oil on the work surface near the bank of devices. “Thundercracker had Sunstorm issue you these,” she reported, “I am to inform you that Thundercracker is aware of your duties and that he has assigned me to report on your behavior, so I will be checking on you.” She leaned down and spoke near Dirge's audio receptors, sheltered by his helm, “Know that I am capable of monitoring your activity in here. I warn you, do not let Swindle let himself in here and distract you. The two of you defile my room, and I shall certainly report it as dereliction of duty, My Brother.” 

“Was he angry?” Dirge asked, “Disappointed?”

“He might have used the word 'disgraceful',” Slipstream said flippantly as she straightened. She glanced at Starscream, running his hands over the surface of her berth. “Thundercracker was concerned, but he is not going to say it.” That was just how Thundercracker was; they both knew it.

“You were the one who originally recommended me to him.”

“Exactly, Aster-4,” Slipstream agreed. If Dirge truly disappointed Thundercracker, it would reflect badly on Slipstream.

“I am sorry,” Dirge said, “Even though I got what I thought I wanted, my actions caused others worry and it is truly not my desire to bring you pain or harm, My Sister.”

Slipstream bent again to touch her helm to Dirge's. “Perform adequately, My Brother. I will bring you some treats and relieve you later.” She turned to Starscream then and walked around the partition. “And what are you doing? Sniffing at my berth?”

“You know how I am driven to relentlessly stalk the ones I love,” Starscream said, “I've even switched my optics to micro and collected what nanites you shed while in recharge in a vial, so I can have you close to me always.”

This was all such an obvious lie that Slipstream was forced to conclude that Starscream had been doing nothing remotely disgraceful and was merely using her berth as a seat, as the chamber lacked alternatives. “So you were planning out how you were going to pose yourself here later to surprise me.”

Starscream laughed outright. “Oh, but Trix, that's your job.”

Slipstream glanced to Dirge, who was of course listening, though he also exaggerated his movements to demonstrate he was operating the devices before him. Slipstream glanced at Starscream once more, then tossed her head and left her chamber.

Starscream followed into the corridor. “Did I upset you?” Starscream asked, laughing, “embarrass you in front of a subordinate?”

Slipstream spun and reached out with her right hand. She grasped Starscream by the throat and pressed him toward the wall. He laughed again. Slipstream sensed the amusement, thrill of victory and want pulsing through his field. Of course this meant Starscream could sense her own intent and motivation, even if she acted contrary to her feelings.

This was a familiar position for Starscream. “Shame we didn't end up with a provocative clone,” Starscream said.

Slipstream released her grip and lowered her hand to rest over Starscream's cockpit canopy. “I know what you are doing, Starscream. It took me a while, but I know.”

“To which of my brilliant plots are you referring?” Starscream asked with feigned innocence.

“I was truly worried. You let me worry that I had destroyed everything. You said nothing about it. And all this acting as if nothing happened has kept me always wondering, suspicious. I realize now, it was all calculated, just to keep me interested. To make me think you playful and casual in your attention and that I was pursued, but never trapped or crowded.”

Starscream could sense Slipstream's understanding, and also appreciation, gratitude, and maybe awe. “Would you have it any other way?”

“I wish you would have explained, or at least said something, about what happened.”

Starscream pushed himself away from the wall, put his right hand to Slipstream's midsection, and pressed her against the wall in turn.

“Seriously?” She asked, with a skeptical look upon her faceplate.

“You can always choose not to escape,” Starscream said as he leaned in toward Slipstream. She did not move or slip through the wall. “You need to talk about it? You want me to say that you won me spark, shell and CPU, avoided the truth with a kiss, and left me bleeding from old wounds reopened that would not heal?”

“Yes.”

“Red Alert did explain the effects cyber-pheromones can have.”

“Yes.”

“Then what is there to discuss?” Starscream asked.

“Aren't you angry with me?” Slipstream asked. But, she already knew he was not. “I mean, why aren't you angry, anymore?”

“Because I regret nothing that happened.”

“But surely, if you had a choice, you would have wanted it another way?” Again, Slipstream knew the answer. She could sense Starscream sincerely had no regret over what had happened between them. She touched her helm to Starscream's. “Forgive my doubt and despair?”

“Of course.”

“I-I-”

“I know.”

Slipstream bowed her head and leaned her weight into Starscream. She did feel good to be close to him. Still, sometimes, she still had an impulse to run from all of this.

“You think you can save me at least once dance during the party?”

“More than one if you are behaved.”

Starscream laughed. “But, it's me, it only takes one!”

Slipstream shoved Starscream out of her way and moved along the corridor. “You really have a one-track drive sometimes,” she said bitterly.

Starscream only laughed. They both knew this was not true, but if it made Slipstream more comfortable to pretend there was nothing more serious between them than a flirtation with the aim of frivolous pleasures, Starscream was content to continue playing this game. He had been denied many pleasures for a long time, so it was not much of a stretch to act interested.

Starscream caught-up to Slipstream quickly and walked alongside her to the turbolift. Darkspire drones had been positioned to direct guests to the large assembly hall on a lower level, where the main festivities were being held. Lengths of velvet rope and flashing alert lighting marked the path guests should follow. Sunstorm was inside the fuel hall, completing some last-klik programming to the drone servers.

“You both look remarkably well maintained and polished,” Sunstorm said pleasantly, as he saw them from the entryway.

“Thank you, Sunstorm, kind of you to notice,” Starscream said in the same, singing, pleasant tone.

“The others have already gone down to the party. I am afraid you just missed Overcast.”

“I hoped he would come from his lab for this,” Starscream admitted.

“Yes, he seemed he'd been closeted in a lab a bit too long,” Sunstorm whispered.

“You need to stop working and come to the party, too,” Slipstream told Sunstorm.

Sunstorm agreed, having completed his duties. They took the lift down to the assembly hall. Many guests had already arrived. The large hall with lightly-engraved, cool-toned metal walls was decorated in metallic red streamers and Cybertronian symbols of union. Recorded music was playing, and a few of the fliers among their guests were dancing. Drones carried trays of refreshments to the guests. There were many tables and seats arranged to promote social conversation. Also there was a table, near the entry, where gifts and symbolic offerings were placed.

It had probably been a long time since any of these Decepticons had the opportunity to publicly celebrate anyone's union. Even those celebrations to honor political union of consorts had been long ago, and only for those highly ranked. For some, this was a new experience, for others, it was a reminder of how things used to be.

Acid Storm was busily introducing his own bondmate, Overcast, to the other Seekers. Like Acid Storm, he was a Seeker with a Cybertronian alt-mode; his colors were cerulean to Acid Storm's chartreuse. They likely could not help but be reminded of their own bonding with Dreadwind, who was now lost to them.

The drone at the entrance prompted Starscream with a flash. Starscream responded and the drone announced his arrival, “Lord Starscream Liege Null and Air Commander Slipstream.” They passed by the drone, into the hall, and Sunstorm was announced after them.

“Care to pose for a holo?”

Starscream pulled Slipstream close and she smiled and made a 'V' with the first two claws of her right hand. The green and violet mech recorded the holo with a handheld device. “Thanks, Viewfinder,” Starscream said, and slipped the mech a few energon chips, “let me know if you get any good ones.”

“Will do,” Viewfinder promised.

“Blackmails,” Starscream whispered to Slipstream.

They entered the receiving line then, behind Whisper's Air Strike Patrol. An additional flier in red armor was in queue with them. He looked up and noticed Starscream and Slipstream were right behind him, then straightened suddenly, and a nanocycle later seemed to be trying to look casual. The fidgeting made Slipstream laugh.

“At ease, Airwave,” Starscream said, “It's a party, not inspection time.”

“Of course, Sir,” Airwave said.

Whisper, Nightflight, Tailwind and Storm Cloud gave Ramjet and Red Alert their formal congratulations and then moved on to mingle with other guests.

Ramjet looked down to Airwave, who was a shorter-stature flight-model. “Commander Airwave, right?”

“Yes, congratulat-” Airwave was interrupted by the announcement of the drone at the door.

“Lord Straxus Governor of New Kaon.”

“Oh, great! Sir Not-Appearing-on-this-Guestlist has arrived!” Ramjet groaned.

“Guess you were premature in suggesting Ravage was the recharge tale villain,” Red Alert whispered in the same snarky tone.

“I don't care what his rank is, if he mentions 'first-sparked offspring', I'm killing him,” Ramjet promised.

“No need,” Starscream said, “Straxus is a politician at spark and much more likely to give sparklings campaign goodies than make threats upon their lives. Leave him to me. Let him pay his respects to you both. He is not the one we need to guard our honor against.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Ramjet is familiar with Monty Python as well as stock fairytale villains and villainesses


	34. The Sacred

“Oh, it is our honor to make your acquaintance, Governor Straxus,” Ramjet said in a falsely accented and haughty tone, “Do forgive me, that is Lord Governor Straxus, formerly of the Polyhex Decepticons?”

“Ramjet and I are so pleased you were not too busy to attend,” Red Alert said playing along, “we are relieved you received your invitation. This party was organized on shorter notice than that to which we are accustomed.”

Straxus was a little taken aback by the Autobot's manner of speech. She spoke Decepticon with a very proper accent that sounded like a broadcast or spokesmodel version of the Vosian dialect, without their more sing-song tones, jargon or slang. As well, she had visible wings and rockets, so for all he knew, she really was a Decepticon who maintained an Autobot disguise for espionage purposes. “Never too busy to visit citizens on such important occasions in their lives. Please accept my congratulations.”

“Do allow me to introduce my bondmate,” Ramjet said, “This is Red Alert, of Iacon; she has, shall we say, influence with the Science Council, and the true up-and-comers among the Guard.”

So like the Slipstream he knew, Straxus thought. What were these Seekers playing at? He had not yet located Starscream or the young Slipstream among the guests. “A pleasure, Red Alert,” Straxus said and made as elegant a bow as his form allowed. 

“Oh, my contributions to the cause are infinitesimal compared to all Ramjet does. He served under Megatron on Earth and escaped Autobot custody; General Thundercracker has already acknowledged his leadership abilities and promoted him once.”

“Ah, I see the Skyscorchers have arrived,” Ramjet said, “Please enjoy the party, Lord Governor.”

Straxus understood that he was dismissed, but also that etiquette demanded newly arrived guests be greeted by the host and hostess. He made his way into the crowd of mingling guests.

Ramjet dropped the false, haughty tone to greet the next guests, “Windrazor, glad you could make it. You gave me a real challenge in the sky yesterday.”

“It was,” the jet with red and blue deco on his wings replied, “you won fairly. Is this your bondmate, then?”

“Yes. Red Alert. She's an Autobot, but she flies, and she's with me, now.”

“Rumor around the aerie is that you took down Motormaster.”

“I just- I just used his mass against him when he came at me; a basic defense move. Barricade, Skywarp and Thundercracker were there. Really Skywarp did more than I.”

“Well, Autobot or not, any little flier like you who can put Motormaster in his place is OK with me. Just don't expect any favors on the battlefield.”

“I wouldn't,” Red Alert whispered.

“Hey, now, don't upset my mate on her special day!” Ramjet threatened, “I don't want to hear any talk about battlefields. Just go enjoy the party.”

“Rematch, though?”

“No problem. A few decacycles. I could use the practice.”

The Skyscorchers moved along to join the other guests. Eventually, the receiving line died down, as all the expected, and a few unexpected, guests arrived and were announced and greeted. Ramjet and Red Alert were then able to enjoy their own party.

It was a Decepticon party, which meant that apart from having all the formal military pomp, they were almost to a one soldiers involved in mingling, drinking and dancing. In some cases their competitive nature lead to fights breaking out, but these were quickly broken-up, and those involved sent to a corner or another room to cool their circuits. Some of the soldiers had not had real R&R for a long time, and long stretches of always being on guard left them ill-prepared to socialize in normal fashion. They might be unaware of their tolerance when energon was not strictly rationed, get overcharged, and act inappropriately in some way. Again, there were always enough cautious teammates and commanding officers to put a stop to the behavior.

For the most part, the fun hurt none, except for those whose reputations would be threatened if accounts or holos of their antics were shared in later cycles. As a politician, Straxus was determined to avoid any scandal, but he was just as determined to remain at the celebration long enough to learn the motivations of Starscream and his clones. Some were less cautious and likely to be blackmailed by Viewfinder and his cohorts or maybe Dirge, if he got greedy enough to want to record data from their security cameras.

Sunstorm stood at the buffet, waiting for a drone to refill the oil fountain. He found that, while his energy absorption abilities allowed him to survive on less energon than others, so long as he had raw sources from which to draw, he required intake of more oil, water and coolants than others of similar build. This, and the ability to discharge excess energy meant that Sunstorm never had to suffer disorientation from becoming overcharged. What he did occasionally have to suffer was having full use of logic circuits while those around him demonstrated impaired judgement and loss of inhibition.

“Hey, Sunshine, is it hot in here, or is it just you?”

“Ah, if it is not my favorite bar-tending confidants, Black Lotus and Jade Stalk,” Sunstorm said calmly. If they were going to use nicknames, then so he would. He saw the drone had restocked the fountain and took a delicate glass filled with oil that cascaded down from the top of the display.

“Some manner of witty euphemism, I take it?” Runabout inquired.

“So, what of it, Hot Stuff, you want to get out of here?”

Sunstorm took a sip of oil and looked over his glass at Runamuck. “What if I do?” he asked.

“Well,” Runamuck grunted indecisively.

“I believe my inarticulate friend here means to say we request the honor of your presence to rendezvous in a nearby place of concealment for a private tryst,” Runabout translated.

“Yeah, cause your hot, If ya know what I mean!”

“Your euphemism and suggestive manner are becoming most clear to me,” Sunstorm said pleasantly, “but flattered as I am, I must decline. I am seriously considering the possibility that I may have been called to a monastic vocation.”

“Sunstorm says 'no', because he's a mech of peace.”

“What? We're Decepticons!” Sunstorm slipped from between the two arguing Battlechargers and moved along the buffet, looking to the spread of various treats and beverages.

“No, he means he might be a cleric or a priest, he'll vow not to indulge in pleasures of the shell.”

“Heh, heh, he can call me 'god', if he wants to.”

“It would have been a delicious way to avoid boredom, but no is 'no', Runamuck. Perchance another will suffice.”

“Excuse me, did I overhear some mention of vocation?” another mech asked Sunstorm. He was dark in color, with webbed wings at each side.

“What an excellent sense of hearing,” Sunstorm noted aloud, “Keen audio sensors, or are you possibly sonar equipped?”

“I sense you are an insightful Seeker. Are you familiar with Wizardry?”

“A Decepticon philosophy which includes a open interpretation and approach to the relation between physics and the metaphysical. In common speech: a practice that combines science with symbolic rite and mysticism.”

“Do you compute on a purely scientific basis, or are you open to spiritual experiences?”

Sunstorm had an uneasy feeling this was more euphemism. “Would your keen receptors bring you to approach me if you did not already have the gift of knowledge?”

“Would you care to discuss...philosophy...perhaps?”

“There you are!” Overcast said loudly. Sunstorm had noted his openly flirtatious behavior before, but now the blue Seeker seemed overcharged as well. He put an arm across Sunstorm's shoulders, rubbing wing against wing as he did. “Looking to bring a Seeker over to the Dark Side, Mindwipe?”

“There are more things in the universe and beyond, Overcast, than are imagined in your philosophy.”

“And I have witnessed science progress to find explanation for those things it previously lacked data and analysis to explain, time and time again.”

Sunstorm, having that feeling of running out of good things to say, replied, “Mindwipe, I thank you for the offer, but the atmosphere is getting a little heady, so I think this not the venue for intellectual discourse. Perhaps you would accept my promise to visit your temple at my convenience?” Sunstorm saw Mindwipe's over-bright optics track his and spoke again, head tipped to avoid contact, “Surely the departed sparks inform you that a suggestion to leave for purpose of getting fresh air would seem suspect to a young newcomer to the Colony, like myself, coming from any I do not yet well know. Please accept my apologies. I must take my kin to find his mate.”

“You looked like you needed rescuing,” Overcast said soberly, as Sunstorm led him away.

“I can take care of myself,” Sunstorm said quietly. But, it was tiring to be hit-on constantly. He understood that as a clone of Starscream he was considered handsome, and his bright coloring made him stand out, but to him the attention was just too much. 

Sunstorm could feel Overcast's field mingling with his; it was uncomfortable. Sunstorm did not especially like his field touching others, and especially not without his permission. Still, he was just as able as any other to interpret the spark field when he was in contact. Overcast was not as lecherous or overcharged as Sunstorm had guessed. There was a hint of some kind of attraction, though it might be explained by his passing resemblance to Dreadwind. Still, his own underestimation of Overcast bothered him, as much as the mingling fields in general. 

They came to a table at which Acid Storm, Skywarp and Barricade were in conversation. Sunstorm pressed Overcast into the seat beside Acid Storm.

“Having fun, yet?” Skywarp asked.

“I am truly blessed. My fun seems to know no bounds.”

“Not everyone is comfortable in a raucous crowd,” Acid Storm noted, “so when they are faced with one, they may tend to behave somewhat awkwardly.” He took Overcast's nearby claws in his. “I think your rescue attempt was a little too overbearing.”

“You used to like that I tried too hard,” Overcast told his mate.

“I still do.”

“Is Drench still here?” Sunstorm asked, “The air is getting a little heavy.”

“Probably Starscream's plan all along,” Skywarp giggled. Maybe he was overcharged.

“He's so devious,” Acid Storm laughed. Then, he looked up at Sunstorm, “Would you mind taking Drench to the living quarters? It is time he recharged.”

“I would not mind. I think I will just go recharge myself.”

“Thundercracker said Drench can use our berth,” Skywarp added. “I think Starscream has Drench with him, again. You should tell Ramjet you are leaving.”

“I will,” Sunstorm promised. He was not certain why Skywarp thought it necessary to instruct him on etiquette.

“Sunstorm,” Acid Storm called to him. Sunstorm looked. “We both appreciate you taking Drench for us. It has been a while since Overcast and I were together with a cause to celebrate.”

“Since Drench survived transfer to his first shell,” Overcast said softly.

Acid Storm seemed sad, somehow, his optics flickering, but kept smiling at Sunstorm. “If you do not mind, tell him a story, or play music in the room. You do not need to stay with him. He recharges a fair amount of cycles, now and will be safe in Thundercracker's chamber.”

“Griffin?” Overcast asked.

“In his bag, still in Thundercracker's chamber,” Acid Storm said knowingly. Sparklings did not have power for subspace storage, which was probably a good thing, or some items would be lost forever.

Sunstorm made a nod. He scanned the room quickly to look for Ramjet or Drench. He saw Thundercracker was at the next table over, talking with Thunderblast. Drench was with Starscream and Slipstream, who were speaking with some Decepticon fliers Sunstorm did not know. Sunstorm had to turn to see Ramjet. At present he and Red Alert were dancing, though Ramjet looked like he was doing it just to please Red. Sunstorm laughed.

He went to the dance floor first. It was true that this kind of dancing was not recently common among Decepticons, what with their still insisting the war was ongoing, though they had lost Cybertron, and Leaders discouraging emotional and reproductive bonds that would result in temporary loss of soldiers or weak, dependant sparklings to feed. It was too much a provocative or romantic display. It was not the true courtship dance of the air, but Sunstorm supposed it was a slightly more visceral equivalent. Yet, right now, a fair number of Decepticons were involved in the dance.

A white-colored feline-form mech was singing in Decepticon to pre-recorded music of a contemporary Cybertronian style, slow in tempo with lots of industrial percussion. Sunstorm had overheard others call him Glitter. Having heard alien music – Dirge and Skywarp often traded files of Earth music – Sunstorm could perceive how this might sound ugly to other races, especially organics, even if the time, scale and rhythm related universal mathematical concepts.

Ramjet saw Sunstorm approach and stopped dancing. He took a few steps to be clear of nearby dancers. “You want to try?” He asked.

“No, thanks. I just came over to let you know I am leaving.”

“I can see you are all torn up about it and having so much fun.”

“I keep getting such generous offers to go somewhere private, from the most sincerely interested, dedicated and understanding mechs,” Sunstorm explained honestly.

Ramjet looked past Sunstorm, as if he could tell who these mechs had been. Red came to his side. She stood close enough to be clearly with Ramjet, but not so close that Ramjet could not be said to be having a semi-private conversation with his brother. “There's so few of them compared to femmes.” It was a lie, but Sunstorm understood exactly what Ramjet meant.

“It's not that, either.”

“C'mon, Howlback is hot,” Ramjet said with heavy sarcasm, “and Sinnertwin...well, actually I'm not sure about Sinnertwin's gender at all.”

“Lovely shade of yellow, though,” Sunstorm said.

“There ya go!”

Sunstorm smiled, a little, just because Ramjet really did know how to lift his mood. He was not sure what he meant to say, only that he wanted to be able to say something nice to the newly-bonded couple, and especially Ramjet, without it being falsely pleasant. “If this were for me, I would ask you to stand by my side, because you're the best mech I know.”

“I'm glad I never considered asking you to stand by me when I said my vows!”

“No, you would not have been so perfectly impulsive and rebellious if you had.”

“Here,” Ramjet said, offering his hand. Sunstorm took Ramjet's hand in a firm grasp, expecting something unexpected. Ramjet used the grip to pull Sunstorm into his embrace. It felt different than being close to Ramjet, before. Red Alert was there. Even if she was not touching them, she was there, with Ramjet. But, surprisingly, to Sunstorm, it wasn't really a bad thing; it felt like there were two of them who understood, and cared, and had gone through difficult experiences with him. Sunstorm believed this was true, because Red Alert had been his doctor, once, too, and she had granted them what little time in the yard they had. Even before, she'd always seemed to get Ramjet's jokes and know whether or not he was lying. She could even change her own manner of speech to play along with him. She probably understood about Sunstorm running out of good things to say sometimes.

Ramjet let him go, and Sunstorm stood quietly for a moment.

“There is a saying,” Red Alert said, “You did not lose a brother, but gained a sister.”

“Don't even think about waking me up to go flying,” Ramjet said, all false threatening tone, “I'm content to fly short-range and low-altitude from now on, and you know Red never lets me do anything without her.”

“All right, since you ask so nicely, I'll fly on your wing.”

“Worst wing mech ever,” Ramjet said and put up his fist. Sunstorm pounded Ramjet's fist with his.

Sunstorm found Drench still with Starscream. Slipstream was seated at Starscream's right side, seemingly a little overcharged, though Sunstorm supposed it might be acted, and entertaining suitors to the extent that she could be overheard explaining that any official acceptance of challenges or courtships would have to wait until after the party, as she did not wish to dishonor her brother and his new mate. Starscream, likely devious as usual, was certainly acting like one who had nothing but courtship, breeding and sparklings on his CPU. Maybe, Sunstorm thought, Skywarp had guessed correctly. Starscream wanted all the Decepticons of New Kaon to know what pleasure or courtship would result in newsparks being conceived. Now, before there was any interference from Imperials, or from Decepticons with potential to escape from Cybertron.

Sunstorm did not know whether Starscream had given up his long ambition to rule the Decepticons, or his vengeance against Megatron, but it did seem the dwindling number of their faction had become his priority over other goals. He watched Drench prance about the table top pretending to be a Decepticon Leader. “Conquest is made with the ashes of one's enemies,” Drench orated.

“I love this mechling!” Starscream said happily.

“Time for recharge, Oh Mighty Leader,” Sunstorm said.

“Power is its own justification,” Drench said.

“Love,” Starscream trilled.

“Acid Storm's command, Oh, Most Adorable Decepticon.” 

“Flattery will get you...flattery,” Drench cooed.

“Could use some work,” Starscream muttered.

“Take them both to recharge,” Slipstream said in bitter tone, “This mech's so over-the-top he can upstage beasts and sparklings both!”

“Drench stage-whispered to Starscream, behind his claws, “Best to show them some compassion, even if only as a cover.”

“Yes,” Starscream agreed, “but it need not be just a cover, if they are worthy. Let Sunstorm take you to your berth. You will go to Thundercracker's chamber. You remember where that is.”

Sunstorm turned his back so Drench could hop on. “I will lead,” Drench said.

“But, surely you are skilled enough at playing to pretend I am the leader?” Sunstorm prompted as he walked toward the exit to the turbolifts, “You can pretend you are my Subcommander.”

“As you wish,” Drench said.

“Excellent.” They walked past the buffet, where now Smokesniper and Gigant were serving themselves.

“Leaving, Sunstorm?” Smokesniper asked.

“Escorting my Subcommander to his recharge berth.”

“You want to join us when you come back?”

Sunstorm thought about this. “I appreciate it, but I have other plans. If you do not mind, I will visit your hanger over the next several decacycles.”

“Gigant wants to compare your energy absorption tech to his.”

“Ja.”

“Look forward to it,” Sunstorm promised, and then continued to the lift.

“What is our plan, Sir?” Drench asked, betraying a need for recharge for the first time as his tones and chirps softened with fatigue.

“You are to lead an away mission for me, Soldier,” Sunstorm commanded, “One worthy of your abundant skills. You will take your troops to a planet called Nod in the Berth system.”

“I will do my best, Sir.”

They exited the turbolift and Sunstorm walked down the corridor. He wondered if Anyone had thought to relieve Dirge, or if they were all so truly overcharged they had forgotten. Not that Sunstorm cared about Dirge's plight in particular. He understood it was punishment for doing something rather rash.

“I need Purple Griffin,” Drench said.

“An Excellent choice, yes.” Sunstorm said.

They came to Thundercracker's chamber. Everything looked in order. The door to the adjacent wash ares was closed. The wall of glass showed a view of bustling New Kaon at night. There was a small Drench-sized wire mesh bag upon the berth, which as neatly made up with layers of oil-wicking fibers, malleable wire mesh and flame-retardant foam.

Sunstorm sat and felt Drench climb from his back. He turned to the bag and found the toy Drench wanted. It made Sunstorm acutely aware of his cloned nature. He had never had toys. He did not even possess memory of being Starscream having toys. He remembered only fighting and having Autobots as his playthings.

Sunstorm would fight again. He was Decepticon to the kernel; it was in his programming to fight. Sunstorm preferred a clear cause and justification, but he would fight solely if given the order. He grasped political manipulation, speeches and inspiration and swaying masses. He did not really understand this...for lack of better term: bedroom intrigue. He would rather have an order to guard or attack, than seek a mate.

“Tell story,” Drench said.

Sunstorm saw that Drench was reclining on the large berth, his toy now clutched in his small claws. “Yes,” he agreed. Sunstorm had heard the same recharge tales the other clones had; part of Starscream's attempted retribution for their life as newly-cloned and expendable weapons. “Once upon a time, there was a youngling Seeker, who worked for an engineer. The Seeker longed to explore. He wanted to fly higher, farther than any before. The engineer was working on a new propulsion systems.”

Sunstorm looked and saw Drench looking up at him with half-shuttered optics. He continued, telling the tale of a youngling Seeker who in a quest to exceed his current abilities and explore further, flew so close to a star that his experimental propulsion system failed and he was left drifting in space, without even his former ability to maneuver. If he had only been patient, he might have eventually been able to fly close to the star and return to share what he had learned.

It did not seem it had mattered what story Sunstorm told. The rhythmic recitation functioned to sync Drench's systems so his processor could enter sleep mode without distraction.

Sunstorm dimmed the interior illumination with a wireless command and quietly left the chamber. He had a rest chamber of his own, small, but his most important belongings were carried with him. Sunstorm walked past Slipstream's room, where Dirge was at monitor duty; he thought he heard conversation within, but let it pass. He continued to the landing bay. A couple of Predators were sitting out on the ledge, getting some air.

Sunstorm jumped from the open bay doors, dropped, transformed in freefall and then fired thrusters and climbed. He did not stop until he was high enough above the planet to get a visual on its blue star. Sunstorm put himself in orbit, dorsal side toward the planet and activated his own signal dampening, as well as long range sensors; he would not be easily spotted, and should have warning of objects approaching.

Sunstorm hung there, slowly and steadily absorbing stellar rays, at peace, with nearly pristine landscape above and starscape below. He was at peace, without overcharged mechs or the reek of heated oil. He believed he could do with out that sort of attention all his life. But, maybe out there, in the stars, there was something for him; a cause, or friends, or brothers. Something he could righteously fight for, and praise without all his flattery ringing false. Something with motives he did not suspect were just as false.

Maybe Starscream would give him an order to protect some sparklings. Maybe Ramjet would call him to fly on his wing. But until his duty was clear, Sunstorm was just going to enjoy this peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mindwipe can butcher Shakespeare; maybe he's seen Beast Wars. Drench definitely has; he quotes more than one Starscream.


	35. And the Profane

Dirge, on monitor duty, noted the alert that the main turbolift was in operation. He brought up the relevant image on one of the displays and saw the passengers were Sunstorm, and Drench, whom he had met only briefly at The Bird Cage. Dirge determined them not a risk and went back to what he had been doing.

Monitor duty was tedious as promised. A series of quickly programmed subroutines allowed him to set -up automatic alerts for movement or change in many areas, and though this made for efficient coverage, it only made his duty shift all the more boring. Currently, Dirge was using a portion of their bandwidth to browse in-range datanets, work on a new invention, and watch the security feeds.

There was not much going on. Apart from the party in the main assembly hall, a few guests had used the lifts to go down to street level exit or up to the landing bay on-level with the personal quarters. Access had been restricted to other levels, but the three floors in use did show a small amount of traffic not directly related to arriving or departing. Dirge thought of this traffic as 'getting some air' before rejoining the party. He monitored this activity in particular, just in case anyone was trying to endanger the residents and guests, but it usually turned out simply to be guests looking for locations to arrange their trysts.

Dirge supposed that was what Starscream and Thundercracker wanted. Though, it felt rather hypocritical of them to send retrieval squads after him and make lectures every time he was just trying to have some fun. The worst part about his punishment was that Swindle was allowed to attend the party. He was even dancing!

Dirge made himself not look; the system was already recording the feeds and dumping to the Darkspire mainframe's banks, so he was sure he could access the video later, if he should want, which he probably would.

Sunstorm and Drench reached the upper level where the landing bay and personal quarters were located. Dirge saw Sunstorm move through the corridor. He heard the footfalls outside Slipstream's room, where he was on duty. Drench was saying something about needing his purple griffin, whatever that was. They entered Thundercracker's quarters and were no longer on any of Dirge's feeds. Interiors of the personal quarters did not seem to be monitored. This made him think that if Slipstream could monitor this room, it was not though accessing a pre-existing security feed. She must have set something up herself; Dirge wanted to find it.

Dirge worked on the device he had been fashioning, based on theory and how-to schematics from the datanet, and then checked the feeds again. He concentrated a moment, accessing files within the Starscream memory, to identify some of the Decepticons he had not personally met. It looked like Wildrider was sneaking off to a briefing room on the ground floor with those two bartenders that worked for Acid Storm. Because, Dirge thought, the faction obviously needed more crazy, high-speed, destruction-prone grounders.

One of the automatic alert sounded and Dirge saw the main turbolift was coming up from the assembly hall, again. Though he could see the interior of the lift on his display, whoever the passenger was had positioned themselves such that he could not see enough features to make an identification. This was not enough to alarm Dirge; many Decepticons prided themselves on being sneaky and stealthy, so this only served as a point of interest in an otherwise boring shift.

The turbolift reached his floor and the doors opened the dark-colored Decepticon exited into the hall. Dirge guessed a grounder, a sports-model from their size and visible features, but it was not a positive ID. Wildrider and Runabout were on the ground floor, but Dirge suspected that even though sports-models were most common among Autobots, the Decepticons had more than two that were decoed grey or black. Barricade maybe? He had last been sitting at the party with Skywarp. Dirge had been wondering to himself why Skywarp spent most of the party talking to the ex-Enforcer and interrogator turned nightclub bouncer, when Thundercracker was spending the same amount of time with Thunderblast.

Dirge jumped then, actually startled when the knock came at the door; he had been studying the display so intently. “Dirge,” the voice called, and then over his comm, 'Dirge? Which room are you in?' It was Dead End.

Dirge panicked, a little, but stood and went to the door. Dead End had drained his energon and left him for dead, which generally did not ingratiate one to a mech. But, Dead End had otherwise been fun. The door slid open and Dirge saw the black and burgundy sports-model standing on tip-toe, mask and goggles in place, telltale arcs of tinted window glass folded down against his back to disguise his profile. This was awkward. “What are you doing here?”

“I overheard the other Seekers say you were on monitor duty, so I came to see how you were enjoying that. And, I wanted see if you were well; I know I practically drained you dry.”

Those words sent a little thrill though Dirge's spark and circuits and he shivered. “Yes. You did. Dead End. What are you even doing here, at the party?” Dirge asked, still barring Dead End from entering the room.

“Breakdown knows Ramjet, and I know Breakdown, so was included in the invitation, though I am not certain Ramjet – is he kin to you? - knew that you and I had met, at the time he made the invitation.”

“No. I think not.”

“Can I come in? I brought you some goodies from the party. I won't bite...not unless you ask.” This, too, gave Dirge a little thrill. He did not consciously seek death, but dancing on that dangerous edge – flirting with death – was exhilarating. 

“I'm on duty.” Dirge realized all the time he was at the door, he was ignoring his duty. “I'm not supposed to have guests.”

“You don't want to see me.” Dead End said sadly. This sad manner made Dirge always want to do something for Dead End to make things better. Objectively, he could see the guilt was an effective form of manipulation, one he might use himself in the future. But, otherwise, he still believed Dead End was actually depressed, and still ended up hopelessly manipulated into wanting to make him feel better.

“I do want to see you. I promised we could go on a real date, didn't I? It's just this really is a bad time. Slipstream will get angry if she finds anyone was here with me. I could get her in trouble too, with our commanding officer. You don't really want to get us both in trouble, do you?” Yes, guilt had its usefulness. Though, it was possible Slipstream already knew Dead End was here. “Give me a couple kliks, to work something out.” Dirge went back to the bank of monitors, aware Dead End followed him into the chamber.

Dirge, seated again, was just about to comm Slipstream with a preemptive confession and beg for some allowance, when Dead End noticed his project. “Is this what I think it is?” Dirge was uncertain how to address this subject. Clearly Dead End could see the device and the monitor displaying the schematics from the datanet, explaining its function. “Does it work? Really work?”

“In theory,” Dirge answered, “I never used one. It's supposed to disperse spark energies in such a way as to prevent conception of newsparks.”

“You have someone else, don't you?” Dead End asked, his tone sounded sad and hinted at disappointment, but he leaned into Dirge as he spoke and made it clear this was not so.

Dirge thought of this as 'spark recognition': he recognized the other field as one he knew, and would have known even with all other senses disabled. In one particle of time, everything that was shared was known again. Then, with the recognition, came the usual exchange of senses that was 'spark language'. It was not like so many ones and nulls, or like words, but concepts were communicated. Dead End wanted to know if he was going to have to share.

This unsettled Dirge, because, though he had meant all the things he said to Dead End at the time he had said them, he had not truly believed Dead End would come around again to pursue any of it. “How'd- I mean, yes. I-I really do like you, and I meant what I said: about going out, and being so honored if you let me have your spark, but there is someone else. Before I met you, and after.”

“I don't know who, but I think it's one of those military types. You were looking at them, when we met.” Dead End's doorwings shifted upward and then folded back down, almost flush with his arms, as he lowered himself to the floor. Dirge was fascinated by his armor configuration. It was not transformation; his armor was jointed in such a way to allow for a wide, many-planed and intimidating profile, or otherwise a very compact, sleek configuration that leant itself well to stealth and hiding in small spaces – like the space beneath the bank of monitors.

Fascinating, like an organic moth with illusory eye-spots on its wings, that served to intimidate predators. Dead End had hidden his identity in the hall by shifting his armor to its most compact configuration. Dirge wanted to touch it, manually operate all those joints, and know how it worked. He saw Dead End's visor glowing brightly beneath the workstation. His claws were on Dirge's left leg, on his turbine heels, his tail fins, rudders, landing gear – all his moving parts. 

He really should comm Slipstream. “W-well, how about you?” Dirge asked, stammering with effort to speak through abject want. “Do you have someone else?”

“Have had, past tense,” Dead End said plainly, “but it was more them having me.”

“But it would be you having someone, if you syphoned their fuel?” Dirge asked, then opened his comm to Slipstream. 'Slipstream, can I have a break? Five kliks. Please?'

“That's different,” Dead End said firmly, “I meant, I've had others interested in me, and I didn't really see much point in refusing. It was fine, I suppose.”

Slipstream responded, 'Comms from Cybertron?'

'Negative.'

Dead End continued, “You know: not like wanting to bond, or having attachment, just what soldiers do sometimes, if they get frustrated about a situation and need to feel something else for a while.”

“That's normal, right? For Decepticons?” Dirge asked quickly.

'Someone is there with you?' Slipstream asked. So, she did not know for certain? Interesting.

“I guess,” Dead End replied, indifferently.

'Yes, but I did not invite them. Two kliks? I'll get rid of them.' He spoke quickly to Dead End, “But right now, no one's saying we can't have attachment, if we do happen to want it.”

Slipstream commed, angrily, 'Take care of it, Dirge. “Get rid of them” does not mean satisfy your lust extra fast. Just get them out and do your duty!'

“Actually, the fact that Starscream is throwing a party in the New Kaon command quarters on occasion of a Seeker in his command getting bonded suggests that attachment is now actively encouraged.”

“I think that's his plan,” Dirge rasped, trying to parse what Slipstream and Dead End each said to him at the same time.

“So, are you attached?” Dead End asked outright. His claws traced the edge of Dirge's tail fin.

Maybe, if they just talked, it was all right. “Not bonded,” Dirge answered, as he made a half-sparked attempt to do his duty by looking to the monitors. “I definitely mean to continued the physical relationship, if I can.”

“Did Starscream say you should not conceive? Or just with grounders?”

“Huh?” Dirge was a little startled by the question. “No. There's no order like that. I just- it's me. I'm the greedy one who wants to experience every part of my lover, spark included; and if promising we'll wait to have offspring, or that they need not feel pressured to do so with me, gets me what I want, then I'll promise it.” Dirge realized, after he spoke, that for someone who seemed not to care what happened, Dead End was really good at employing distraction and seduction – not to mention the guilt – to manipulate a target. Dirge had just openly admitted the types of arguments he had planned to use against a potential lover, to a potential lover.

“Why would they not want to have offspring with you?” Dead End asked. Yes, why would they not want to bear his progeny? Sure, Thundercracker would assume everyone was out to get him sparked-up, due to his ego, but why should Dirge not have that distinction? He was elite!

“Could you just...back-off, just a little?” Dirge said. “I really am supposed to be on duty.”

“You did not answer 'why',” Dead End said, and retreated into the darkness beneath the workstation. Dirge hated that Dead End had obeyed, though he liked having someone's obedience; he really wanted more.

Dirge straightened a little in his chair and checked the feeds. “Well, I guess, if they felt it was still not safe, here, or they could not spare time from their other business. I don't know. I guess there are reasons.” He tapped Dead End's arm with his right foot and was pleased to feel Dead End respond to the invitation by lightly clawing his turbines, “And, I'm used to getting lectured on how I want too much, so, I anticipate it is soon going to come to the point at which I hear a lecture about it and am told that just because the faction has dwindled, that does not mean I have to conceive a newspark with every mech I meet.”

“Would you really?” Dead End laughed. Dirge liked when he laughed, probably because it felt like having an achievement to get one so nihilistic to show humor other than dark laughter at inevitable destruction.

“No, from a scientific standpoint it would be unwise. It would greatly reduce the pool of possible mates my own offspring would have, by reducing the diversity in the pool overall. That would mean that my line and progeny would die out all the more quickly. If I want descendants, I should make myself decide on a few mates whom I really want and just have as many offspring as they will tolerate.” Dirge had a heady vision of sparking with everyone he met, and it was good, he wanted it. No, he told himself, you control the greed; your scientific knowledge is accurate. Having quality will be better than having quantity, especially in the short term. Pick a few. Pick good ones. Special ones. Make them yours. “Mine,” he whispered.

“Have you decided?” Dead End asked.

Another knock at the door startled Dirge, this one was insistent, pounding. Dirge frantically brought up the feed from the corridor. Even as he did, the door slid open. “Handy things, these lock picks,” Swindle said smoothly, as he sauntered in.

Dirge could only think that he was slagged. He was so certain Swindle was going to go to his mean side. He waited for it to happen. Swindle leaned over Dirge's right shoulder, which was an easy reach when Dirge was seated; he danced his digits over the leading edge of Dirge's left wing. Just teasing, before he opened fire, Dirge thought.

“And here I was going to do you the honor of introducing you to the joys of monitor duty, Kid, but I see The Empty beat me to it.”

“Swindle,” Dead End said in awe. Many Decepticons knew Swindle, even if only by reputation. Swindle had fought in the Great War, been in and out of spark incarceration, and switched shells several times, before Dead End had even been protoformed.

“W-what do ya mean about monitor duty?”

“Be sure some frigid, conscientious mechanism, like Red Alert or Starscream, is not on duty, wait a reasonable amount of time, then enter pretty much unnoticed – with a few handy-dandy gadgets I am willing to supply at an affordable price. This, My Friend, is how Autobots and Decepticons have infiltrated each other's bases for stellar cycles.”

While you reap the profits, Dirge thought. “I'll get in trouble,” he said.

“No, you won't. Slipstream and Thundercracker are both overcharged and being hit-on by every mech in the room. Besides, your Leader doesn't have a big fraggin' gun, and I have.”

Thundercracker did have swords, but they were not as cool in Dirge's calculation. “I love your guns,” He said giddily. There was a big gat mounted in Swindle's chest, which literally meant one was flirting with death trying to get Swindle's spark. A spark which Dirge had gotten!

“I know. You are such a tight bundle of want right now; If I could bottle and sell it, I'd never want again.” 

“Always more.”

The cannon on Swindle's arm-mounted cannon whined, and Dirge saw it aimed, over his shoulder, at Dead End. Dirge saw Dead End's visor glow brightly, but otherwise he did nothing, as if prepared to just accept being blown apart. “Now, Lover, tell me what you offer me for the little, strung-out oil-digger's life.”

Dirge huffed through his vents. “Can you be losing your renown business acumen, My Lover?” Dirge asked, “Devaluing the life we are bargaining for is not going to fetch you a very high price?”

“But, Lover,” Swindle said in his mean tone, “I do not like to share! If I viewed the piece of slag as real competition, we would not even be in negotiations!” He switched suddenly back to smooth talk, “Dirge, I am willing to cut you a special deal, one time only, because you are such a valued partner. Make me an offer.”

“What do you want?” Dirge asked.

“Don't be dense, Kid; I want you.”

“So, attachment? Strings?”

“Yes, frag you.”

“Demand goes up, and supply remains the same. I am in a pretty negotiating position now.”

“Don't talk to me about positions! If I wanted ego, I'd go hit-on another Seeker,” Swindle said in a hiss.

“Let me enjoy your new outlook on attachment just a little,” Dirge said sweetly, “It nearly satisfies me to hear you admit it.”

“High praise.”

“Yes, but as we have discussed before, you can no more sell me something I already own than I can sell you what already belongs to you. And, Swindle, I am already yours, and you are mine.”

“They you have nothing more to offer me. I can dust the doom moth!”

“Unless....” Dirge prompted.

Swindle grumbled, “The third party has some real value to offer us both.”

“I suspect he does,” Dirge said.

Dead End responded by climbing up Dirge's legs. As he rose, his armor shifted to a wide configuration, with apparent wings and antennae-like protuberances. He climbed until he placed his chest-hood at point blank range to Swindle's cannon.

“Ya want to die, Gloomgoodie?” Swindle asked.

“No. He doesn't. Dead End knows we will all inevitably die,” Dirge said, “but he is not suicidal. In fact, I think he has a very strong survival instinct. He'll do anything to sustain his existence a while longer.”

“Anything?” Swindle asked.

Dead End said nothing, but looked up toward Swindle.

“Make an offer. You have not earned a special bargaining position with me. Do not expect me to name what I most wish to receive, like Dirge. Tell me, if your spark burns twice as bright, Junior.”

Dead End reached up with his right hand and unfastened his mask and then spoke, “I offer my thirst, my insatiable lust for energy.”

“That-” Swindle hesitated before continuing. After a few nanokliks, he withdrew his cannon. “That might just work.”

“Maybe it does not seem like much,” Dead End said in his depressed, careless manner, “It must be so easy to find others who can not only appreciate the pronounced avarice and covetousness of a couple such as yourself, but match your want.”

Cha-ching.

Dirge commed Slipstream again, 'please, can I gave a break?'

'Did you do what I ordered?'

'There are now two visitors.'

'Dirge!' Slipstream disconnected suddenly.

“I am so in trouble.”

Swindle laughed at this. “What punishment can they give you that's worse than monitor duty?”

“Being grounded,” Dirge said mournfully.

“Is being grounded so bad?” Dead End asked, “You have us, down here.”

“But Swindle is afraid of Starscream,” Dirge pouted. “You knew I was stuck up here, and I saw you dancing!”

Swindle looked completely unapologetic; the tricked-out sound system with which his alt-mode was equipped activated and played a musical sound bite: I'm bringing sexy back!

The door opened, without any knock. Starscream came in, followed by a maintenance drone. “All of you out. Dirge, you have two kliks.”

“Five!” Dirge insisted.

“Three, but you return in inspection worthy state.”

“Four.”

“I'm already counting your time.” Starscream rushed them all out, Dirge and Swindle, and the curiously moth-like Stunticon. “It reeks of burning rubber in here!” As soon as they were gone, Starscream commanded the drone to clean the floors and filter the air. Slipstream would not be pleased if her room smelled of grounder.

“Now, to business,” Starscream said to himself. He had approximately three kliks alone in the room. He spent half a klik on actual monitor duty, checking the feeds, noting which were recording and to what storage media, and looking for those who were not merely enjoying the party or 'enjoying the party'. Starscream allotted the next klik to searching the room for any customizations Slipstream had made during their as yet brief stay. He figured, he should then have a full klik and a half to plan and implement changes of his own.

Hacking security on the personal chamber of one's beloved would very likely seem dishonorable to some, and even against the spirit of courtship, but Starscream was not going to give up playing dirty just because he was in love. When- if Slipstream found out, she would most likely act outraged, but privately, Starscream was certain, she would see it as the romantic gesture it was. After all, he did not care enough to forge access to everyone's chambers. And he did not even have a transwarp nav system that enabled him to stage a surprise in a room to which he did not otherwise have access.

All this impersonal interfacing with data systems and coding was more Slipstream's thing. Starscream was usually content to delegate such tasks to others, like Blackout or Frenzy. Yet, he had a lot of practice from all the stellar cycles of cracking access codes to Megatron's chambers. He was fairly confident of his work by the time Dirge returned.

Dirge was alone and clean. Starscream no longer detected burgundy transfer on his plating, and did not see tan either for that matter. There was no scent of burning rubber. Dirge even showed an acceptable level of gloss to his armor, meaning he had polished.

Yet, there was a distinct space-like scent, like ozone, that was immediately recognizable as recent spark arousal, and at the very least suggestive of some spark-play. That, and Dirge was grinning and staggering. “Open up. Let me see,” Starscream said seriously.

“I do not know what you mean,” Dirge lied.

“I am certain you do have the knowledge, Dirge. Let me examine your spark.”

“Don't touch it!” Dirge warned, but he agreed. Starscream had not indicated, so far as Dirge knew, that he was fully aware of Thundercracker's plans or the expectation that he could or would produce protoforms, but Dirge knew of the plan and supposed Starscream was going to have to be trusted to look at other sparks, new or not. Dirge opened the layers of protection and revealed his spark chamber.

Starscream leaned forward from his hip joints, studying Dirge's spark with as much scientific detachment as he could muster, while keeping his own spark well away. It had the appearance of being gold in color. It was common knowledge, as far as Starscream knew, that sparks did have apparent colors, but he had never encountered a sound theory that hypothesized why they differed in this way, or if the difference was in any way significant and more than an aesthetic quality.

“You have a spark halo,” Starscream observed calmly.

“Why do I not have knowledge of this term?” Dirge demanded.

“You do not remember the electives I took, or the colorful rumors in the academy dormitories. A medi-bot would know.”

“Well?”

Starscream was rather fascinated by the phenomenon. There was a ring of visible spark energy of a faint magenta color about Dirge's spark. Sparks were fascinating, but usually when a student asked how sparks actually did what they did, the instructors, scientists though they were, replied that such study would offend the religious. They just hedged around the subject. “Maybe Scalpel should look, he has optical processing beyond mine.”

“Is it bad?”

“No.” Starscream straightened and gestured for Dirge to close his spark chamber. “It is residual spark energy, from a recent merge I suspect.”

“It's not-?” Dirge whispered.

“No. Not a newspark, but I understand it has the potential to coalesce into a newspark.”

“Really? Potential? I could have one?”

Starscream lifted the device Dirge had constructed from the workstation and held it aloft, so Dirge might see. “I find it mildly suspicious that one who constructed their own spark arrester sounds so pleased at being – how shall we say – sparked-up?” 

“Well, that was made before, when I thought Swindle would need a lot of convincing,” Dirge said, with a small effort at trying to sound casual, “but he's even more mine than I had hoped.”

“And Dead End probably thinks if he became a carrier you would want to take care of him.”

Dirge's expression was hard. “I do not much care for all this insinuation that Dead End is an empty, or oil-digger, or using me. He is mine, because I want him. I will not stand to have what is mine so devalued!”

Starscream sighed. In a better mood, he only found it interesting how the slight difference of having just one of his traits amplified resulted in so great a difference between himself and one of his clones. That little extra edge of covetousness gave Dirge the motivation and ability to be frighteningly direct about his desires. Dirge, adult, but so young, already had two lovers and was quite serious in wanting offspring. Starscream, in comparison had many times been too slow or too late in expressing his true emotions and spent stellar cycles silently suffering with unfulfilled courtship protocols active and constantly running in the background of his processor. In his current mood, Starscream was annoyed and envious knowing of Dirge's lovers.

“They may be yours now, but you certainly chose mechs with a certain reputation.”

“And all their experience and knowledge is now mine!” Dirge said defiantly.

Starscream rubbed his helm, where the shard used to be. He knew the shard was gone, and he felt no pain, but it still eased some doubt in his spark to assure himself of this; sometimes his clones were worrisome, and not as amusing as he had recently come to believe. “You will come with me tomorrow,” Starscream informed Dirge, “I was going to make the request of Thundercracker, after the party, with the reasoning that I could use the help of the Science Officer; but I shall insist, given that I will need to keep an optic on your spark to see if that halo coalesces or disperses.”

“Go where with you?”

Starscream replied honestly, “With Overcast, to the Seeker research facility outside the city. Swindle will come; I have work for him in particular. Dead End may join us, if you wish, and so long as he behaves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swindle apparently has some Justin Timberlake in his audio files, but this is more a nod to Youtube AMVs than anachronism. He probably also has at least one Fall Out Boy track in there.


	36. Red Clouds

“I do not suppose you would like to join me in recharging,” Ramjet said. He saw Red Alert shift her head and optics to look at him. Her lip plates formed a particular smile. Ramjet understood: he had meant to to communicate with her honestly, by stating an obvious lie, but in failing to anticipate her wants accurately, he had actually spoken truth. They were going to pretend he had meant to speak honestly all along, but she knew of his slip. Being spark-bonded was not like networking processors or like one's consciousness diving another system. The language was always truthful, but sometimes lacking in specificity to allow for association with a subject or target. “Because, of course we are going to do a security sweep, first.”

“Good idea,” Red Alert said coyly, “I knew there was a reason I chose you.”

Ramjet folded his claws over the small digits of Red Alert's right hand. He stood. Red put weight into his left hand as she pulled herself up from her seat. “It wasn't I who inexplicably chose you. You did not have to do nothing but give approval.”

“Doesn't matter.”

It didn't, really. They were strangely well-suited to each other, despite being from different factions. They were only getting better at working together. Ramjet knew there were times when Red's high-strung nature was to be quelled with meditative breaths and quiet conversation, when she needed someone to show her how good being reckless could feel, and when her edginess was only going to be helped by additional security procedures.

“Ground floor up?” Ramjet asked.

“I would suggest starting here, going to operations, and then reassessing there.”

Ramjet agreed. The party had been winding down, in any case. The assembly hall where the party had been hosted was largely empty, with drones now tasked on cleaning rather than stocking or serving. Slipstream was the only one of the resident Seekers still present, save Ramjet himself. She was sitting on what had been the dance floor, giddy and talking to a few mechs who may have been dance partners or musicians. Ramjet gave a nod to Red and they approached Slipstream.

Those closest to her were Talon, Airwave and Glit – weird designation, Ramjet thought, but that's what they called the cat. Ramjet found the way the feline-form mech was rubbing against his fellow clone predatory. “I'd love for you all to stay here,” Ramjet said, “But it's against fire code for guests to camp on the dance floor.”

“Starscream didn't come back?” Ramjet was not entirely sure if this was a question or a statement.

“Red, you see Starscream?”

“He did not return, but I am certain he is only recharging or perhaps decided to relieve Dirge.”

Ramjet did not say, but it was a little suspicious, now he thought about it, that Dirge had never come to the party. He wondered if Starscream had gone to relieve him.

“Did he ever give you that dance?” Talon asked slyly.

Slipstream looked to the jet at her left. She had seen a lot of dated or trendy decos, since arriving in New Kaon, but Talon's was one of the more attractive; his nanites maintained a coat of interference paint, so that depending on the angle of light and view, his armor appeared blue, or silver, or black. He had danced well, too, and though Slipstream did not recall noticing him in the sky before, she had the feeling she was going to be watching for him now, to see if he flew as well. He was one of the Predators, but not as aggressive as Skyquake, assertive as Falcon, or know-it-all as Skydive. And, his name sounded like a character in a show she liked to watch.

“I'm sure he just had something to take care of,” Airwave said, “Slipstream's high enough in rank within her team to know the projects Starscream would be working on, even if we don't.”

“And, I'm not telling,” Slipstream enunciated slowly, to avoid slurring.

“Still a promise to one's intended is no small matter that should be overlooked,” Talon said, attempting to insult Airwave's smaller size as Airwave had mocked his lower rank, while still drawing attention to Starscream's negligence.

“Ramjet and I are going to authorize access to the barracks on the next level,” Red Alert interjected.

Ramjet had not known this, but he quickly sensed Red's motivation was to give the mechs fighting over his sister a safe, nearby place to recharge before the argument escalated beyond verbal barbs. In Ramjet's thinking, Slipstream was one who appreciated verbal barbs and this was just clever courting on the part of the two fliers. Yet, he could see Slipstream was still somewhat overcharged and had enough matters virtually weighing on her processor that some shut-down would be beneficial.

“Slipstream, walk with us as far as operations,” Ramjet said, “That is – If you would, Commander, seeing as how I have superior capability with the systems there and very high clearance...I do not really need your help.”

Slipstream stood, then staggered forward a step one foot crossing in front of the other, and swayed. Clearly she was overcharged enough that surges were affecting her gyro-stabilizers. “Ramjet! You need to stop making excuses and show some responsibility! You are just as capable a mech as the rest of your brothers. Ridiculous a clone of Starscream not being familiar with Decepticon Operations consoles and procedures!”

“Yeah, I am the one who looks irresponsible here,” Ramjet snarked, but he knew Slipstream had a point. He was by no means unintelligent or unskilled. He just felt more comfortable being the joker; not that he wanted to admit this to anyone. Red Alert squeezed his hand with her smaller one. She had always perceived Ramjet as bright and capable, though she did find his sense of humor most attractive.

“Maybe Ramjet and I can handle operations,” Red Alert said, “He should be responsible enough to not allow me access to any sensitive systems.”

Slipstream was overcharged, but she had not lost all her faculties. “As I am sure that as these mechs have realized,” she began, referring to Glit and the two fliers, and speaking mainly for their benefit, “you are with our team at Lord Starscream's sufferance, because he respects you as a scientist and a medi-bot, and because Ramjet so values your company. Be assured I can monitor Operations from my own quarters, and if I find any unauthorized access, I will know who to question first!” Meaning Red Alert, of course, “And, then I will go ask Ravage!” Slipstream said to Glit. It would do none of them good to provide the Secret Police with a perfectly set-up Autobot patsy.

“Airwave, Commander,” Ramjet spoke, imitating Thundercracker a bit in his formality, “We would appreciate if you escorted Slipstream to her door. I should be able to get to Operations and grant you access to the barracks by the time you return, that is unless you feel so inclined to return to your quarters outside of Darkspire tonight.”

“Very good,” Airwave agreed.

“Can't have it look like fraternizing, can we?” asked Ramjet, so the other two would understand the choice.

Talon took some time to say farewell to Slipstream, which Airwave politely tolerated, while Glit slunk away.

Ramjet and Red Alert made their way to Operations, on the same level as the assembly hall. It was a large chamber, designed to allow a Decepticon of City Commander rank or better to monitor both Darkspire and the surrounding City-state of New Kaon, and to provide facilities to plan and implement strategy in time of conflict. There were large monitor and projection tables to display video and holographics, and multiple workstations at which the Commander's staff could communicate in real time with any troops in the field, or operate defense systems.

Ramjet was not a City Commander, but Darkspire – a non-sentient AI itself – recognized Thundercracker as its current commander and his fellow Seeker clones as Officers in his command. Starscream and other members of team Luna were registered as support members of the team and had lesser clearance. Ramjet used his officer access codes to activate one of the workstations.

He did know how to work Decepticon systems. Slipstream would have done it faster, but she had been correct in saying Ramjet was capable. He authorized temporary public access to the barracks on the level above operations, and then made a public address using Darkspire's internal communications, “This is your Captain speaking, please note that pools and bar on the Lido deck are now closing. I welcome you all to enjoy our accommodations in the cabins on the deck above. A continental breakfast will be provided in the morning, for those who wish to dine with the Captain. Have a pleasant night.”

Ramjet then checked the workstation monitors. There were five levels of the building showing activity: ground floor, operations, barracks, training and officer's quarters. There was one Autobot energy signal, coming from Operations, which was as expected. There were numerous undisguised Decepticon signatures within the building. Ramjet manipulated a few controls and assigned a display color code to those signatures also corresponding to the Luna battlenet. Thundercracker was the one using a training room. Ramjet knew he was in Operations. Most of the others appeared to be already up in the officers quarters; Slipstream the one on the way up.

Ramjet gestured for Red Alert to look with him. There was still a lot of activity in the building. Blips were showing up against the three dimensional schematic of Darkspire's internal structures. Ramjet snickered a laugh. There were so many blips converged in twos or threes, in unused conference rooms, storage compartments, or emergency stairwells. “Would never expect a Decepticon stronghold to have security cameras everywhere,” Ramjet said sarcastically.

“I can speak Decepticon a lot better than read it,” Red Alert admitted, “does this indicate feeds being recorded and archived?”

“No. Absolutely not!” He said smugly, “I am so not coming back to check the video tomorrow!”

“For purely security-related purposes, of course.”

“Of course.”

Red Alert leaned into Ramjet's arm. “It is nice, in a way, so many 'Cons coupling off.”

“Says the Autobot?”

Red Alert giggled. “I just mean...that's part of your plan, right? Thundercracker's grand design? To save the faction with breeding.”

“Let's do a really lengthy security sweep before going to our own chamber.”

“All right, we'll be quick about it,” Red Alert promised, “just consider it a nesting instinct. I need to feel somewhat safe so I can be relaxed when I'm with you.”

“I keep you safe,” Ramjet said truthfully.

Red Alert tugged on Ramjet's left arm. “Just a quick sweep.”

The security sweep started on the ground floor. Ramjet switched the lock status of the main entrance from permit two-way traffic to permit exit only. From there, they swiftly patrolled the floor, opening doors, listening for sounds, and scanning for energy signatures. Ramjet was sure there had been activity in one of the large conference rooms down here.

When he opened the door, he saw at least four grounders engaged in some manner of intimate activity, much of it on the surface of the conference table, with silhouettes cast on the screen customarily used for projection of hardcopy transparency maps and schematics. “Support your decision to not GET A ROOM!” he called.

Ramjet closed the door.

“Were they?” Red Alert asked. She had not dared to look.

“No. No toys or mods. No sticky residue. No scuffs on the table. No exotic location or inappropriate use of a projection system.”

“Anyone I know?”

Ramjet shook his head.

“And – how do you even know what toys and mods look like?”

“Obviously an expert. What do you think?”

“I think that my old school chum has been a bit sheltered given his high rank and specific arenas of study and combat, but whatever he did glean in all his years, you seem to remember.”

Ramjet smirked. “I suppose you are a real expert.”

“I do have creators in Enforcement and the Mods Market. There are a lot of different kinds of mods. And, I did rotations in emergency service stations. You would not believe some of the stories. Some interface mod glitches causing mechs to become magnetically locked together in rather compromising positions....small foreign objects....”

“No such thing as too much information,” Ramjet groaned. “And I was dreading you saying you'd been to pleasure houses on Cybertron.”

“I have, but-”

“I can't picture you and other noble, law abiding Autobots raunching it up at a pleasure house the night before someone's bonding ceremony.”

“Yes, that's exactly what happened,” Red Alert said sarcastically. Actually, it had only involved a few drinks and watching dancers.

“I so need these speculative renderings in my processor right now!”

“Then, is it a bad time to tell you – you deserve to hear it from me now we're bonded – I did pose for a fund raising calendar-”

“What?”

Red Alert nodded. “With Inferno and Hot Spot and some others; to raise funds for victims of refinery explosions, during the war.”

“I never want to see that image! I mean, right now, I do not need to see it!”

“I might have a copy saved on one of my drives,” Red Alert suggested. She knew when she said it that she was going to run, and Ramjet was going to chase.

The chase went through ground floor corridors; up a stairwell, where Falcon and Skyquake were having a spat; onto the training level, where they stumbled upon Thundercracker and Thunderblast sparring with melee weapons; and back up to the Operations level, where Ramjet lost traction of the floor plates – possibly due to a previous spill – and careened into the door to a storage room, where Acid Storm and Overcast had sought privacy.

“I know you don't think this is my fault!” Ramjet called, as he scrambled out of their way, “Get a Room!”

“Slag it!” Acid Storm cursed.

“Hush, do not stop now,” Overcast whispered. He twisted slightly, carefully, as their sparks were connected, to shield Acid Storm from the open doorway with his right wing.

“He broke my concentration!” Acid Storm said desperately, “I can't.” His spark, the bright blue one, withdrew quickly into the shelter of its protective chamber.

Overcast was still, but for his claws petting Acid Storm's left wing and faceplate. His spark, golden in color, hovered for another nanocycle, between them, and then retreated. “It is all right. We can try again.”

“Don't say 'it's all right', like you are trying so hard not to blame me!” Acid Storm raged.

Overcast knew very well that Acid Storm knew there was no blame intended; they were bonded. So, Overcast knew Acid Storm's anger was truly a result of his self-doubt. He said nothing; only continued the soothing gestures. They had been bonded for millions of stellar cycles, a megacycle apart did not change that they knew their way around each other and their emotions.

“I was so close,” Acid Storm whispered, “We were so close.”

“I know.” Overcast wanted it to happen, too. He truly felt fortunate they had Drench; grateful beyond what mere words could explain, and he thought, if they were really not to have another, he could come to accept that. Still, Overcast was with Acid Storm in this 100%; he wanted to conceive another.

“They have no idea!” Acid Storm complained, sadly. “The slagging Cyber Ferry decides to visit and they think that is all there is to it!”

“They are just young. We cannot blame them for that. I know you do not truly spite them.”

Acid Storm did want those young Seekers to find their own mates, if they so chose, and their own happiness. But, even wishing for their happiness, and wishing they would never have to know what he knew, he could not help feeling old, and maybe even glitched...jealous. “They think it's easy. Think you just get 'sparked-up' and that's it. No complications! No haloes when you are hoping for a spark. No spontaneous loss of field cohesion. No-”

“I know. I was there. I do not want us to dwell on this,” Overcast said.

“I like talking. It helps me. I'm a talkative mech.” This was true; they both knew. Acid Storm relied on technology for some part of his information gathering, but largely he relied on personal communications, networking, social skills. These were his strong points, not those of Overcast. They were a good match intellectually, but Overcast was a little more comfortable with devices than with other beings. It was good; they complemented each other's strengths and weaknesses. 

“Tell me about the good parts, Cid. Tell me what you are happy with. Tell me what you want. You want me to stay downtown with you?”

“You love me, Cast; you don't love the city.”

“Yes, but I can tolerate the city for you.”

“Lord Starscream needs us right now. I want you to help him.”

“I will.” Their loyalty to Starscream was very real and very personal. It was nothing Starscream had ever demanded, but something they had chosen to give.

“But...” Acid Storm vented a sigh and relaxed his posture, a little. He leaned forward and put his helm to Overcast's left shoulder. The good parts, Acid Storm thought. “We've been well in sync lately. We were never bad, but it feels good now, strong.” Overcast knew he meant the bond, and the dynamic between it and each of them. “I would like if you visited. I know you finished one of your projects. And Starscream will likely have some others to help him, so you do not have the full burden.”

Overcast had finished Drench's first set of youngling armor and age-appropriate mods. Their sparkling was not quite ready for upgrade, but he would be soon. “I would like that, too.” It was often convenient for them to live apart. Their duties differed. Overcast could concentrate for longer periods of time on his weather control devices and other inventions, while Acid Storm could play at being more lonely than he every truly was, in order to invite others to confide in him. Still, Overcast would admit, sometimes, after all this time, he just forgot how beneficial it was to meet to renew bonds and vows. Sometimes, it really did help to be able to touch. “I will set reminders.”

“You will forget,” Acid Storm insisted, without animosity. Overcast was like that. He would remember how much he liked spending time together, when Acid Storm did finally drag him out of the lab, but he always forgot first. “I will call.”

Acid Storm was good about calling. “At your beck and call, then,” Overcast agreed.

“There is something I would like to do now,” Acid Storm said. “You stowed some energon.”

Overcast turned his left arm to open a storage compartment. He had in fact stowed away several small cubes of premium grade energon, from the buffet.

“You want to fuel-up and go flying with me?”

“Yes.”

“We will try again, though,” Acid Storm said firmly, “Soon. When you visit. We will lock the doors and play music and ignore all comms.”

“Or, spontaneity?” 

“Because it turned out so well this time?” Acid Storm laughed.

“Almost.”

Acid Storm smiled, lifting one of the cubes. “Well, we will see how I feel after a romantic night flight.”

“I will be willing to try again.”

“I know.” Acid Storm said, “You are the dependable one.” Except when he forgot to visit, but Overcast was a very dependable mate overall, especially when it came to duties in the berth or aerial combat. It was in some ways a shame they had so little cause for aerial combat these days; they excelled at it. “You feel like making a storm?”

“I would love to!” Overcast's optics flashed brightly. He loved creating his inventions, but he loved getting to show them off even more.

It was not very long before Overcast's cloud generators and bolts of electricity combined with Acid Storm's cloud seeding to form a sudden plague of darkness, red clouds and acid rain over downtown New Kaon. There was a common Decepticon proverb that said: Red clouds at night; Seekers delight. The Autobots of Cybertron used to have a different proverb that said: Red clouds in morning; 'Bots take warning. Regardless of faction, the corrosive rain combined with electrical discharge played havoc with armor plating and exposed circuitry. Any Decepticons who had been on the streets of downtown, quickly took shelter or sped up to outrace the storm.

The storm did not have the ability to track targets as it had when Dreadwind had been with the Rainmakers, but that issue was at the top of Overcast's punch list.

Inside Darkspire, Thundercracker heard the boom resulting from electrical discharge in the atmosphere above. He leapt backward, away from Thunderblast, to listen. “It has been a little while since I was on a planet with weather. I did not realize a storm was approaching.”

Thunderblast halted her advance. “There was not, but you did have the two remaining Rainmakers as guests.”

“Acid Storm and Overcast. They were sitting at the nearby table, with Skywarp.” And Barricade, Thundercracker thought. “We have been at this a while....”

“Good match?” Thunderblast said, hint of a question, inquiring whether Thundercracker was finished sparring. 

“Yes,” Thundercracker confirmed. “Quite good. You are a capable fighter.”

Thunder boomed again from outside. “Will your team go back to Earth?” Thunderblast asked.

She had been there. Thundercracker knew this from the various personnel files in Starscream's memory. Not before the war, but during. An expedition to find resources for the war efforts. The voyage of the Decepticon starship Atlantis had been considered a failure; the ship lost, its Seekers and other crew lost. A portion had survived, on Earth, without a means of contacting home. Thunderblast and others had been imprisoned by Autobots.

Since meeting, they had discussed that both had encountered Crosswise. They had not, specifically, discussed Earth.

“I am undecided,” Thundercracker said, “It is common knowledge we have ties there, roots if you will.”

“If you were to take such a voyage, General, I could be an asset there.”

Thundercracker nodded. He had been informed of Ravage's visit and intention to go with them to Earth. It was part of his plan that his team find worthy new teammates for such a voyage. Thunderblast had skills enough, but Thundercracker was uncertain of her motivation. “Do you know Scalpel?”

She laughed bitterly. “You might say that.” Thundercracker did not know what to make of her tone. In truth, Thunderblast and Scalpel had courted, once, in the past; it had never formally been concluded. They had been separated by circumstance, and never since taken the opportunity to meet and declare the courtship successful, or not.

“I ask because, he is the only aquatic-type we currently have on our team. In fact, he just formally transferred and was made our CMO – it means-”

“Chief Medical Officer.”

“Yes. Earlier this past local solar day. If you were to join our team, you would likely be expected to work with him at times, on missions that require aquatic types.”

“I understand, Sir. With your approval, I would also like to transfer to your team.”

“You have a cell or team leader now?”

“I have been doing some...administrative tasks for our Lord Governor.”

“I see.” That did not sound like worthy work for any Decepticon. There was some need for efficient communications and archiving of data, but drones and automated systems could hand much of that. “It would be a step down, from a post under such a high ranking Decepticon.”

“I see more opportunity away from New Kaon.”

“I appreciate your interest.” His team really was the best. Decepticons should show interest. Thundercracker could not just choose anyone for the team. They had to be worthy. “When I have decided, I will contact you.”

“Thank you, Sir!” Thunderblast said, betraying some excitement.

“That earlier gibberish over the intercom was Ramjet. I invite you to stay in the barracks. The storm.”

“Thank you, again! I really, really appreciate it!”

Thundercracker returned his swords to his wing mounts and bowed his head very slightly, in acknowledgement. “I have matters which to attend,” he said, then made his way to the upper level, where the officers quarters were located. 

In Starscream's personal quarters, a small group had gathered, mostly at Starscream's invitation. Scalpel and Skywarp had actually been summoned by comm. Barricade had arrived with Skywarp, but was welcomed quickly by Starscream, who seemed to think he had skills required for the task at hand. Glit had arrived lately, overcharged and lacking in the field of knowledge required, but as some manner of kin to Scalpel and Ravage, was not one Starscream intended to offend – not openly.

The task at hand was analyzing a bit of aerial combat strategy. Starscream had prepared some vector graphics, mathematical calculations and various other aids, including declaration of variables in use and charts listing technical specifications of aerospace craft relevant to the strategy. Or, this was what Starscream claimed he was analyzing.

Skywarp and Scalpel each had the knowledge to recognize that the tech specs were those of Starscream and Slipstream respectively. Barricade did not know much about aerodynamics or aerial combat, but he had capable math processor and keen logic circuits enough to recognize this was a matter of determining whether it was physically possible for Seeker designated 'omega' to catch Seeker designated 'trion'. Starscream was attempting to prove that he could by some means pursue and catch Slipstream.

Starscream rubbed his helm in frustration. He had been working on this, secretly, since they began their voyage to New Kaon aboard the Lazy Susan. He had simply assumed, at first that it must be possible. That Slipstream was wrong about her theories. That even if it were true they each were driven to play hard to get – desired to be challenged, yet caught and claimed – if one of them did decide to pursue, rather than chase, they could catch the other.

He was beginning to fear his assumptions were incorrect. Maybe had had been too arrogant, or greedy. He had assumed to quickly, and now failed?

Skywarp was supposed to be helping. He was supposed to sneakily be acting as Starscream's confidant in this and checking his math with that renown math processor that could handle transwarp navigation calculations. Instead, Skywarp was busily conversing with Barricade and Glit.

It sounded like, “flavor...buzz buzz...spin...buzz...charge...buzz buzz...mass,” to Starscream, where 'buzz' was incomprehensible physics babble that Starscream did not consciously register.

A pause, then Barricade would reply something like, “Buzz? Unifying...buzz buzz...slaggin...other 17 dimensions...buzz buzz.” 

Meanwhile, Glit would talk over Barricade with some slurred, overcharged boasting about the famous places he had performed or a new nanoagent he had created.

Skywarp would, cautiously, fawn over the feline-form mech. “A cat who is doctor and a famous singer? Kawaii! That's almost as cute as humans being florists and secret agents!” He would then reply to Barricade, “Gravitation....buzz buzz...strange...charm...buzz buzz.”

A pause, and then Barricade might say, “top...bottom?”

Starscream was fairly certain Barricade and/or Skywarp was comming someone. There was just enough lag in their conversation to allow for the processor to carry two conversations at once. “Skywarp!” Starscream called.

“Yes?” Skywarp said timidly, though he had just seemed coy with Glit and surprisingly confident with Barricade. “My Liege?”

“The math. Does it really check-out?”

“Yes,” Skywarp whispered. He received another comm from Barricade.

'It is not going to work, so long as there's the air pressure differential created by the pursuit of one behind the other. The one behind saves fuel, but the one in front received a speed boost. The only way might be for one to continue pursuit until the other runs out of fuel.'

'There is a simpler solution, at least one. Think outside the construct. Do not assume too much.' Skywarp then spoke aloud, “I think you are doing well already, if you do not mind me saying.”

“Sunstorm phrases his flattery with a bit more flair,” Starscream said, annoyed. The air pressure differential. “What about in space?”

'One of them could just decide not to try so hard to get away,' Barricade commed.

Skywarp smiled, for Barricade, but he looked toward Starscream, “You have not given your work for me to proof, but my estimation is that, given your stats, you would both end up at the same constant speed, given your mass and thrust.”

“That can't be right. I know I am faster than Slipstream.”

“But she has just slightly less mass...My Liege,” Skywarp offered.

'Could run this in a slew of different atmospheres,' Barricade commed, 'It's always going to be pretty slaggin close.'

Skywarp commed back, 'It is actually more pointless than that. Given their special abilities, even if one could match the other's speed for a few nanocycles, they could not physically catch the other unless they wanted to be caught.' 

“Sir,” Barricade said aloud, “what about weapons? Couldn't one of these Seekers disable the other as soon as they were in range?”

“Of course we could!” Starscream began. He realized, firstly, that he did not intent to make it obvious to Barricade this matter involved Slipstream and himself, and secondly, that weapons might not even work. “I mean – Seekers designated omega and trion are highly capable with evasive maneuvers. Highly capable.”

Barricade commed Skywarp again, while pretending to study the chart of tech specs. 'Why is Starscream doing this? Isn't he already courting her and she defending her right to be his mate against challengers?'

'He thinks solving the math problem will “prove” his worthiness.' Skywarp was about to suggest to Starscream that maybe science could not solve all problems in life, but there was a knock at the door.

It was Thundercracker; Starscream keyed the door open to admit him, before Thundercracker decided to use a command override.

Starscream signaled Scalpel to shut down the projection, just as Thundercracker stepped inside. “What is this? After party?”

“We were just talking about physics!” Skywarp said suddenly, as if frightened.

Starscream and Thundercracker both looked at him in suspicion. Barricade ducked his head and tried to look small. “Yes,” Starscream said slowly, “No doubt someone as keenly interested in leadership skills recalls Barricade used to be Megatron's go-to mech for science matters.”

Barricade shifted one of the four lenses in his optics to Starscream, but kept his head down.

“He piloted the nemesis!” Skywarp said, “I didn't know grounders could be pilots.”

Thundercracker huffed through his vents and looked down at Barricade. “That was a little elitist, Skywarp,” Thundercracker said, “of course grounders can be pilots; someone has to stay with the ship when the Seekers are all dispatched to gather intel on a new planet.”

“Someone has to leave the light on so you can find your way home,” Barricade muttered.

Starscream laughed at this.

“With me, Warp,” Thundercracker commanded.

Skywarp stood gracefully and stepped to Thundercracker. Thundercracker took his leave of them. “My Liege. Doctor. Other Doctor. Sergeant.”

“General,” Barricade said lazily.

Starscream saluted playfully.

“So formal today,” Scalpel complained.

Skywarp just waved, then followed closely after Thundercracker as he left. 'TC, was there something? Are you overcharged? You did not even banter with Starscream.'

Thundercracker reached for Skywarp's nearby hand; took Skywarp's right in his left. He was irritated. Skywarp had smiled. He had not smiled because Thundercracker had arrived. No, he had become defensive when that happened. Physics my sine function, Thundercracker thought. That shifty-opticed security mech was playing at something, probably his old tricks; Thundercracker knew what Barricade was like, from memory.

“Thundercracker?” Skywarp recognized they were heading for their quarters, where Drench was sleeping.

Sure, Thundercracker thought, Skywarp was smart enough to see Barricade was setting him up. Yes, Skywarp was a mastermind; he had to see. Maybe the smile had been fake, to lure Barricade into a false sense of security. Beat him at his own game. But then, he could have faked the smiled for Thundercracker.

Impossible. Inconceivable. Skywarp was his, forever. He was special, no one else. Skywarp wanted him. He was all Skywarp needed. He could provide. He could give Skywarp anything he wanted; everything he wanted.

They turned the corner and soon came to the door to their chamber.

The smile had not been false, Thundercracker thought, not for him.

Thundercracker turned and put his right hand to Skywarp's cockpit canopy and pressed him to the wall, just across from their door. “Thundercracker,” Skywarp whispered, “What is it? Wh-what do you want?”

Thundercracker lifted his right hand from Skywarp's chest and placed a single claw-tip to his lip plates. “Only what I have always wanted. For you to smile.” For me, he thought. Thundercracker did not watch Skywarp's mouth to see if he might smile. He touched their helms together. Their fields entwined.

Skywarp knew Thundercracker's doubt, and his desire. He drew his right hand from Thundercracker, then lifted both hands to touch claws to Thundercracker's wings. The touch made Thundercracker shiver. “This?” Skywarp asked. Thundercracker shifted his hands to Skywarp's midsection.

To Thundercracker, Skywarp's touch, and his field were confident; reassuring. Of course, Thundercracker told himself, there had been no cause to doubt. He was superior to all others. Of course Skywarp could not be interested in any other. “I know what you want,” Thundercracker said confidently. He pressed against Skywarp, cockpit gliding just left of Skywarp's.

“Want you,” Skywarp said. His left foot rose; his heel knocked playfully against Thundercracker's right tailfin. “Always wanted you.”

Was this special enough? Thundercracker felt doubt again. He had to make it special. He was worthy of no less! Skywarp was worthy of no less. “Needs to be perfect.”

“It is. Stay with me,” Skywarp pleaded. His claws grasped the leading edge of Thundercracker's wings. “It is perfect if it's you. I'm not afraid, if it's you.”

Thundercracker's spark spun in its chamber. He could feel it. He could feel so much. “I can give you what you want,” Thundercracker said. He tilted his head, toward the right, approximately 45 degrees. “Give you release from vows.”

“I'm yours.”

Thundercracker pressed his mouth lightly to Skywarp's. He knew Warp's scent, the invisible colors of his field, the electrical tingle of physical contact, but he had never before sampled his taste.

Nothing.

Neutral.

No taste but the same taste that existed in Thundercracker's own mouth. No secret flavor perceived by his processor at the particular combination of metals, petrochemicals, and CNA that signified compatibility. No recharge tale sweetness of true love or trine.

Nothing.

Thundercracker drew away from Skywarp, shaking. He could not accept. He could not process this data. Logic circuits could not comprehend. No!

He wanted to give Skywarp everything he wanted; he was insufficient.


	37. Fanfic Gum

Starscream felt there was insufficient time to say farewell to Slipstream. It was partly to prove his worth to her, by showing he was still capable of acting for the good of their faction, that he was leaving so early. It was dawn of the local solar cycle; Decepticons would either be recharging, because they had participated in the festivities the night before, or engaged by their own secret meetings. It would not be obvious that he had left, or who had gone with him, until much later. And by then, hopefully, his work would already be underway.

Starscream did slip into her chamber. He stood near her berth, fixed high along the wall – he presumed this was to allow for greater storage space or visibility beneath the berth – and watched her curled in recharge. He was rather pleased with himself that he had not only gained entrance, but that his presence had not woken her. Starscream liked to think this meant her spark trusted him, whether she was conscious or not. It was a rather heady feeling, this being trusted.

Must not ruin it, Starscream told himself. No. Do not abuse the trust. It was tempting. Some part of him wanted to laugh and gloat, draw attention to the fact that he – the one everyone assumed to be so treacherous – had made her trust him. Look what power he had been given!

He did not even touch. Starscream just watched, for a brief time, enjoying the power. He had never felt that anyone was so completely his. He had commanded loyalty before, respect from some, and fear, but not this. Slipstream was so his! And she was perfect. Yes, a bitter nag; there was that. And evasive. Yes. Just inscrutable sometimes. An inexperienced Commander. But, she was also beautiful and powerful and highly intelligent. He had made her!

He, Starscream, the genius, had made her in his image, and she was the perfect helpmate. So, the AllSpark had helped, a little. But he had MADE her! He had triggered her courtship protocols not once, but twice! Narcissism be tossed to the smelting pools! The universe had not seen fit to grant him a paramour, so he had made his own.

She was really cute when she was in sleep-mode. Luscious, pouty, black lip plates. Bunny brand on her tail fin. Cruel, slender, magenta-painted claws, wrapped around one of her own cables, as if she were plotting accessing a system right now.

She made him better. She challenged him. She told him when she disagreed. Megatron, Starscream thought, could have had him as his paramour. But, Megatron had ruined everything; he had not given Starscream what he needed. Slipstream would be better. Starscream was quite confident now. They could make things work out. Megatron? He would leave that protocol running a little while longer.

Slipstream did deserve a token of his affection, however. It was time to say goodbye to Optimus Prime. It had always been a frivolous attraction, and now would forevermore be short-lived. Maybe Optimus could have made Starscream better, but he would have always looked at Starscream with Autobot eyes. Slipstream was a Decepticon. She would make him better, challenge him, and not expect him to change, except to reorient his course when he strayed from their cause.

Starscream shut down the protocol that had triggered when he saw the youthful Prime on Earth.

Starscream had hope. He and Slipstream would find a third. They would make things work. If he had hope, then he could be hope for his faction. He could – he would be the leader they needed, be it figurehead, or example or symbol. And, he would do it with science!

The Decepticons were not going to die in his watch. He understood what they needed. He could provide energy, weapons and military goals as well as Megatron – better. He would give them what Megatron could not. Choices and options long denied them; the ability to exercise the freedoms they were told they fought for. A taste of what was at stake, so they would truly understand their cause. A cause for which they would be inspired to fight, whether it be physical battle, or competition in a field or industry. 

It was not about waging war against Autobots or destroying them in battle – though they certainly may end up as targets. It was not even about Cybertron, or any one powerful artifact – though those were admirable goals, if they should choose them. It was about Decepticons controlling their own destiny, regardless of who stood in their way. They did not need Autobots or Cybertron to do that, when there were so many worlds they had yet to explore and sample.

Starscream placed a couple of small holo-projectors upon Slipstream's berth, by way of parting.

He left her room, quietly as he had come. The others were waiting in the corridor. Dirge was there, with both Swindle and Dead End. Scalpel was just saying goodbye to Skywarp. Overcast was standing ready, with Acid Storm and Drench nearby.

Starscream went to Skywarp, where he was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, just outside the door to his chamber. Scalpel was on his left shoulder, small forelimbs stroking Skywarp's helm fondly. Skywarp had been sitting here through the night and had not recharged. Starscream had not allowed himself recharge either, but that was because he had been arranging his journey from the city to the Seeker Research Facility on the outskirts. He planned to recharge after he had settled himself at the lab.

Starscream crouched and looked on Skywarp. “I need attention to be on those of you here, for now, and not on me, so I must ask you do not visit. You may comm if you have need. If it is important, send Cid as a messenger. It will not seem suspicious if Acid Storm and Overcast travel between the locations. Take care of the others, Warp,” Starscream instructed, “Explain to Trix that she needs to be seen within the city. And tell Thundercracker that I trust he will know when to use my name. Ramjet will look after Sunstorm, and I know Red will look after him.”

Skywarp nodded slowly in understanding. He was still hurt and shocked by the revelation the night before, but he would do his part to further their mission.

“I need Scalpel in particular,” Starscream told him, “You will still have BB. I am certain we can trust Smokejumper; just say you speak in my name. Ask Thundercracker or Sunstorm to tell you if Smokesniper is proven yet. I am not certain about Smokescream; it depends what his options are. And...I'm sure Vortex is with us.”

Skywarp nodded again. Vortex had come, mostly because Swindle had, maybe because he had some amused fondness for his jail mates Ramjet and Sunstorm, but he was Slipstream's now. Not the third she was looking for, but one in her service, as a Decepticon was to another he chose to obey without challenge. “I know,” Skywarp said quietly.

“Keep up your recruiting,” Starscream suggested.

Starscream stood then. He lay a hand on Drench as he touched helms with Acid Storm. Neither spoke, or commed, but they both understood what was needed. Starscream was going to the Seeker Research Facility with Overcast so he could cultivate protoforms there. Also, as they and Overcast knew, Starscream had some things in safe keeping there, which he had need to access. Acid Storm's duty was to keep optics on the actions of Team Luna within New Kaon, and to continue his data marshalling.

The team had been in New Kaon more than a local solar cycle; enough time for Straxus to take notice and for Imperial sympathizers in the city-state to report their presence. Time enough, also, for Autobot spies to report their location to any listening on Cybertron, including spies placed there. They could expect to see reaction soon; what form, they could not yet project, so they had to be prepared for anything.

Starscream took Scalpel from Skywarp and put him into his own cockpit. Swindle and Dead End had already been given the coordinates of the Research Facility. Dead End had been with Dirge just long enough at this point that it might still be assumed he had merely found a mark last night and enough fuel to keep him out to daylight. Soon, his presence would be missed by his team. Dirge and Dead End realized this, as well as Starscream or the other Seekers. Acid Storm believed it a matter of time before Motormaster came looking for answers.

Starscream found himself thinking on the presence of the Autobot spy in the Stunticon team. He did not himself know why he was so certain of it, or why he was certain Breakdown's identity was Deep Cover, who was Red Alert's creator. When he thought about Deep Cover, the Autobot warden at Trypticon came to his processor. And thinking that, Starscream realized he knew the precise layout of the detention facility and access codes to get through various doors within. Yet, he had no idea how he knew. Diagnostics suggested he had been resurrected knowing the information.

It was time to leave.

Swindle and Dead End went down in the lift to the ground floor to roll out along the roads. Starscream took Dirge and Overcast with him to the landing bay. He assigned Overcast to right wing and Dirge left. “Why can I not have the position of right wing?” Dirge asked.

“If I gave it to you, you would now be asking why you could not have right wing,” Starscream said blandly, “and Cast is accustomed to flying right wing for Acid Storm.”

“You both go ahead, then,” Dirge said, “I will make my own way there. I want to monitor my grounders; make sure they get out of the city.”

Starscream agreed. Dirge had the coordinates as well. “Overcast and I will proceed and unlock the facility.”

It was a short flight west, with the rising blue star behind them. Overcast kept formation with Starscream well. They used to fly together often, with Acid Storm and Dreadwind. Starscream had never had a trine of his own. He was offspring of a trine, and his peers Thrust and Acid Storm had found suitable Seekers, but Starscream never had. There had not been many from which to choose. A great number had been deactivated in military conflict between city-states, just prior to the Great War. Others had been lost, such as those among the ill-fated Atlantis crew. Many more had died in the course of war. Some few, like Dreadwind had their sparks extinguished by the actions of other races.

The Seeker Research Facility, where Overcast worked was an institution Overcast and Starscream had both worked to keep in existence during the war. It had originally been located within the Cybertronian city-state of Vos. After the conclusion of the Great War, during the time of the Decepticon Diaspora, it had been transferred to the Decepticon Scout Class vessel Hyperion. The aging ship had been transported to New Kaon by a larger vessel, where now it was ground-bound and made up a portion of the current SRF.

The Research Facility was a functioning scientific laboratory, with cramped, but usable workstations for the various fields of Seeker interest, but the largest portions were for engineering of electrical devices and chemistry, because those were Overcast and Starscream's pursuits. The SRF was also, sometimes, a front for other things that Seekers did not wish known to Decepticons at large, or others outside the faction. It contained, for example, Acid Storm's off-site back-up of intelligence files, as well as a database of Seeker ancestry. It had for some time also been the vessel for Starscream's collection of things that were not the AllSpark.

Overcast and Starscream reached the Facility in good time. Overcast demonstrated the newest security features to Starscream and informed him how to gain access. It had been a long time since Starscream had been able to visit this lab. He had made occasional rendezvouses with Overcast, Dreadwind and Acid Storm during the time they had all been mobile and Megatron had Starscream looking for the AllSpark, but it had been at least 50 stellar cycles since Starscream had last been to the SRF.

The Facility, but for required chimneys, portals and vents, was buried below the surface of the planet, which was here had a coarse, discreet soil, along the natural slope of the mound upon which New Kaon was built, and sparsely vegetated with some red plant life. The concealed entrance was positioned at the lower point of the slope, and led to an old airlock, which in turn gave way to the level metal-plated interior.

The cool-tone alloys were a mark of Decepticon metalworking processes. Overcast went before Starscream, into the main corridor of the grounded Hyperion, now oriented along a north-south axis, with its starboard side airlock, through which they had come, to the west. “Much of your equipment is still in this original section,” Overcast said, meaning the Hyperion. “And the data banks,” he added, “Cid figured, if we ever had to pull out quickly, we could cut loose the annexes and haul the Hyperion. The silicates overhead are really for insulation and shielding, more than camouflage.”

Outside, Dirge homed in on the given coordinates. His first visual confirmation was of the array of photovoltaic panels now risen to capture light from the local blue star for conversion to electricity. Now there were also a collection of communication dishes and antennae visible along the surface. The darker ground around the bases of the devices seemed to indicate damper soil had recently been exposed from below, meaning, Dirge surmised, that the devices were retractable.

He commed both Swindle and Dead End, using their preferred scheme, and informed them of the visual indicators they might use in locating the entrance.

Dirge went to the entrance and found it locked. He rapped at the exterior hatch and soon heard a replying metal on metal ping. The hatch was opened. Starscream was in the space of the airlock, which was just large enough, Dirge supposed, for three Seekers to squeeze into together.

“I want to see the science labs,” Dirge said eagerly.

“You shall,” Starscream promised, “but first: how far out are the others?”

“Maybe two, two-and-a-half kliks at their last speed.” Once out of the downtown area, it was a straight shot west and downhill most of the way. An easy drive for both sports-model and utility vehicle.

Starscream nodded. He walked back to the main corridor from which most of the chambers were accessed. He paused momentarily and looked back at Dirge. “You will want to touch things, or take them. Do not. If you can obey, then there are things here I might give you as gifts, or allow you to use, but if you disobey, you could severely damage yourself or another. And we would not want that, particularly in your potentially impregnated state.”

“I will make it my mission not to touch,” Dirge promised.

“Scalpel is already making an inventory of equipment in my lab, but I wish to speak with Overcast before the others arrive. You may listen.”

Overcast was then within his own engineering lab, still at the workstation he had used to raise the arrays. Starscream called to him and Overcast joined the other two in walking through the narrow corridor.

“It looks like a ship,” Dirge said, “a tiny ship.”

“The Hyperion,” Overcast said, with some fondness, “It was my trine's home for many stellar cycles. Just big enough for three, if they are close.”

“We might need to increase air circulation,” Dirge suggested.

“We had a few difficulties with Dormitory Effect,” Starscream explained awkwardly.

They came to the space just behind the unused cockpit, here was the main console to the Hyperion's main computer, with its heavily modified and ungraded data storage and processors. Starscream used his old, but valid access codes to call up a large file containing a chart. He quickly found his designation. “Here,” he said to Dirge, “I will let you input the names of you and the other clones.”

The chart was a type of registry of lineage, Dirge recognized. So very many designations, linked by lines and symbols. “All Seekers?” Dirge asked.

“Not in the strictest sense,” Starscream offered, “but all related to Seekers in some way. Some, very distantly, with a single Seeker among their progenitors, many generations back. I know Thundercracker means for us to increase the Decepticon faction, but it would be nice, if we could get ourselves a few more Seekers in doing that.”

Dirge marveled at the chart. It went back millions of stellar cycles. Some designations recycled many times over as elders were deactivated. Some designations Dirge had never even heard. Later generations showed Autobots, as well as Decepticons, being descended from Seekers of the distant past, before there were even factions.

Starscream spoke then, to Overcast. “I spoke briefly to Cid; I do not know what he may have relayed to you, but he told me that he would like you to have your own voice in the matter.”

“Which?”

“Thrust. Do you know what we learned from Ravage?”

“Yes. I understand Swindle was also involved.”

“I do not know what will come of it, only that it does seem that Swindle and Thrust both were part of a scheme to supply Trypticon with a new transformation cog. Thrust is in Trypticon now. But, if there is to be some escape – whoever planned it – we may be able to meet with Thrust again.”

“Where was he before?”

“On Titan in the Solar system, with the Triple Changers. I only recently learned of all this, after my resurrection.”

“I do not know what to say. My impression was that he was deemed unstable, not suitable for missions. I pity him, I do. It was devastating to lose one mate, and he lost two.”

“He witnessed it. One of our final battles on Cybertron. I was there. I was with him, before we all dispersed and became refugees on so many worlds. Physically he was sound, but the loss was too much for his processor. He relies on perceived astrological messages for every decision. He's not even really a Decepticon anymore.”

“But he is, physically, still one of us,” Overcast said.

“Exactly.”

“Star, we cannot just...breed him. That is, I fear, what you are suggesting?”

Starscream made an annoyed, wordless series of clicks. “No. And Thundercracker is not, either. But, if he could be persuaded? What I want to know is: if we have the chance, should and can we shelter him? If need be, protect him from prosecution? Forgive any betrayals?”

“This is all hypothetical. Unless we ourselves plot to get to Trypticon and free him, we have no way of knowing when and if we will see him.”

“Hypothetical, yes, but I am suggesting we plan for all contingencies. We are dying, Cast. Seekers even more than Decepticons. I dislike Thrust. I always disliked him, even when he was sane – more or less – but I view him as a Seeker, even if he's given himself over to reading stars.”

“If Megatron was behind the scheme with the cog, then I do not think we will have the chance to detain Thrust at all. Megatron would not allow it, assuming the plan is to free them both. But, if there are some other circumstances, any of us, as Decepticons, could take him into custody to question him about the deal with Swindle. Then, we would have at least a little time to observe and determine whether he will cooperate. If he believes the stars want him elsewhere at that point....”

Starscream sighed.

“We could just ask him to help us,” Dirge said, “he liked the other Dirge a lot.”

“How do you know about the other Dirge?” Starscream asked.

“His name is on this chart, but I knew before that. I almost died lying at the foot of his memorial marker. Ender showed it to me. There is one for the other Ramjet, too. I knew someone must have arranged to have the markers erected.”

“I had not realized.”

“Do you want me to send him a message? Prisoners are allowed correspondence, aren't they? Or, should Ramjet do it? Those Autobots owe him.”

“They would not likely admit it,” Starscream said.

Overcast placed his claws, gently, to Dirge's right shoulder. “They were his trine; they cannot simply be replaced.”

“Not to mention you have your own lovers.”

“I was not really suggesting I breed with him,” Dirge said. Though, he was tempted. “My suggestion was merely that if you wish to cement what is only hypothetical, he might be willing to accept as much as a message from one of us.”

The discussion was interrupted as Swindle knocked on the entry hatch. “We can discuss this another time,” Starscream said, then went to let Swindle and Dead End inside.

The corridor was somewhat difficult for them all to navigate. Starscream's collection, which he intended to show Swindle, and Overcast's lab were both in the rear compartments. Overcast had to stay back in the fore section, so the others could go before him. Dead End entered the main corridor by retracting his armor panels and ducking between Dirge's legs. Swindle squeezed by near the aft section, and then walked before Starscream. The others then followed single-file.

Starscream explained again, as he has to Dirge, that they were not to touch or take anything. The rear port compartment housed a special collection of things that were not the AllSpark. Some were probably rare, but useless; others were powerful in their own right; and a few could cause permanent deactivation.

Overcast went separately into his own lab, in the starboard compartment, while Starscream led Dirge and the two grounders in to see his collection. The interior of the compartment was quite literally crammed with assorted display cases, shipping containers, storage bins, stacks of similar sized objects, and large freestanding objects.

Swindle immediately recognized a few rare and valuable objects. Starscream had a whole bin of force chips! Dirge wanted everything. Dead End saw a few shiny things that looked like they might be energy sources, if not mildly radioactive. “Starscream, my old friend...” Swindle started.

“I will give you a suitable percentage for any sales you manage. That is why I invited you here.”

“Sure, sure,” Swindle said, wringing his hands. He glanced at Dirge; he looked quite fetching in a gold cone-shaped helm today: Swindle's recent gift. He had made it sound like coming here was all his idea, but then Swindle supposed it was very Dirge to claim possession. “Explain the deal to me.”

“All of this I collected over the course of several million stellar cycles of looking for the AllSpark and not finding it. Our crew did our best to appease Megatron, of course. He may have played with a few of these baubles for a while, but he tired of them. So I 'disposed' of them here.” Starscream lifted a jewel-encrusted gold orb from a crate of various orbs. “Pearl of Bahoudin – need to remember to give this to Overcast.” Starscream tossed the so-called pearl from hand to hand then placed it on a nearby shelf. “These items are not my only investments. I have currency in financial institutions on numerous worlds, various real estate and prospecting claims, things like that.”

“We all do,” Swindle said, waiting for Starscream to get to the point. He casually appraised a box of keys lying atop a broken memorial marker that showed only a pair of feet.

“Not all of us. You can't take it with you.” Dead End walked around a stack of crates to a display case containing samples of various colored liquids, maybe he thought, even some rare types of energon.

“Oh, yes you can,” Swindle disagreed, “If I go offline – permanently – I'm making it a condition of my termination protocols that I have a monolithic space mausoleum constructed in my honor, with all my material possessions sealed inside, and automated defenses.”

“That is...mildly tacky, My Lover,” Dirge said, “Are you certain you would not prefer a somber, traditional recycling into some useful object that I can have?”

“Maybe you would like to get sealed in the mausoleum with my cold, gray, deactivated shell, My Lover?”

“And forego the opportunity to dramatically throw myself into the smelting pool after you?” Dirge asked, “doesn't sound all bad. Maybe I could reanimate your shell with Quintesson technology and have my own zombie playmate.”

“It will all end up back here with Starscream,” Dead End said morosely, “you realize these relics and artifacts were likely robbed from tombs and temples?” 

“Do you know how much effort I went through to collect these slagging trinkets for Megatron? How many worlds I had to invade? How many alien races I had to wage war against? I earned these!” 

“So, back to what I get out of this.”

“I am willing to part with some of this,” Starscream explained, still agitated. So many things here made him think about Megatron and how disappointed he had been. “I will keep those objects that will be of real use to Team Luna, and safeguard those that are too powerful to risk sending into another's keeping. The rest I am willing to sell, if you can find suitable buyers.”

“Fifty percent?”

“No way. More like five.”

“There's a lot of legwork involved.”

“Over comms.”

“It should be 25 percent.”

“Fifteen,” Starscream offered. “And that does mean I get eighty-five; not you get fifteen, while your other associate gets ten and another still five, until I am down another fifteen percent!”

“Well, since you are clearly such a valued repeat customer,” Swindle said, “I will accept fifteen percent.”

“I think you could have had him for eight,” Dirge said coolly, “You know Swindle's marketing skills, he'll make these old artifacts sound like they are one-of-a-kind sacred treasures...”

“They are one-of-a-kind sacred treasures!” Starscream said. “I've got a whole box of matrices, a case of crystals of mysterious origin – including a Doomstone that sucks sparks from your very shell – and a vial containing the cure for scraplets!”

“I said they were stolen from temples,” Dead End said quietly.

“Isn't the cure for scraplets just water?” Dirge asked.

“Just water?” Swindle asked, “Imagine what that one vial of water would mean to a village of sick mechlings on a planet that has no water. It would be priceless.”

“My Lover? Really? You are going to sell water to scraplet-infested little mechlings? Can't you see what you could have if you gave it to them for free? Their admiration, their eternal gratitude!”

“Their currency.” Swindle sidled up to Dirge to try to influence his opinion on the price of water, “Dirge, Lover, do you know the logistics involved in transporting something the density of water from one planet to another? Who pays for that, if you give the cure away?”

Dirge looked down and saw Swindle's large, purple optics gazing up at him. “Can I have your optics, if you go offline – permanently?” Dirge whispered.

“Probably, if you made one of those sad infomercials, like the ones I see when I have trouble recharging, you could convince wealthy beings to pay for transport of water between planets, retain and surplus as expense in operating your charity, and still give away enough water to gain all the admiration you desire,” Dead End suggested.

Swindle, now trying not to look at Dirge, even as he leaned against his side, extended his left hand to Dead End. “Come back over here, Gloomgoodie.” Dead End returned as requested and took Swindle's hand with his own. “I knew there was a reason we decided to keep you around. That was just...priceless.”

“I was just thinking of all the things that go on in the galaxy,” Dead End admitted.

“Don't be sad,” Dirge said. “Swindle really likes your idea! Everyone wins. Donors get to feel good about themselves, mechlings get the cure they need, and we get currency and undying gratitude! It was a really beautiful thought, Ender.”

Starscream sighed. “Yes, yes, all well and good until someone protests the water mining operation is negatively affecting their ecosystem. Or until someone figures out you ran out of actual scraplets infestations and persuaded Oil Slick to cause a few more.”

“Hey, Oil Slick is in prison, and you're the one with the slagging vial in your collection.” 

The collection. Starscream reached into his subspace storage he drew a palm-sized crystal out into his right hand, passed it to his left, then reached in again and drew out a small red data crystal. “He offered the smaller, red crystal to Swindle. “Here, I prepared-”

“What is that?” Swindle asked.

“As I was trying to say: I made a copy of my inventory so you may beginning locating markets.”

“Is that the Heart of Cybertron?”

Starscream regarded the larger crystal in his left-hand claws. “Yes. It's not for sale.”

“You cannot possibly use it. Do you know what it's worth?”

“Better. I know what it can do...installed in a properly equipped starship.”

“You want the currency to buy a starship?” Dirge asked.

“I want the currency, and I am willing to buy a starship, if I cannot get one by other means.” Starscream pushed the small data crystal into Dead End's hand, since Swindle's were occupied. “Let me know if you need to prepare images or supply provenance for potential buyers,” Starscream said then, “I will escort you back in here.”

“Meaning we are leaving,” Dirge said.

“I need to recharge,” Starscream admitted. “There is a guest chamber: midsection port side, beyond the chemistry lab. Dirge may access the ship's computer, and you are allowed to enter my labs, of course, but the collection is not to be disturbed.”

As they walked from the compartment, Starscream went last, and exchanged the Heart of Cybertron for the Pearl of Bahoudin. As they came to the narrow corridor again, Starscream locked the door on his collection. Dirge ushered the other two before him and turned to Starscream. “Can you check again?”

“Check what?”

“The halo,” Dirge whispered.

“I should warn you, though the contents of the SRF are not harmful to Cybertronians under normal conditions – some devices and objects affect electromagnetic fields and may harm sparks, particularly newsparks, if not shielded within your spark chamber.”

Dirge studied Starscream over the top of his half-spectacles. “So, actually, what you are saying is: no sparking in the labs?”

Starscream laughed a static-laced chuckle. “The guest chamber has suitable shielding, as have very specific areas of the labs. Come.” Starscream walked then into Overcast's lab. The engineer was presently drafting a plan for a new microprocessor at his workstation. Starscream sauntered to him and presented the jewel-encrusted sphere. “I have been meaning to give you this.”

“Yes. Excellent. Weather control applications, if I am not mistaken.”

“I thought of you,” Starscream said. “I am about to recharge, but Dirge and I need to make use of the shielding for a moment.”

Overcast nodded agreement, fascinated by the Pearl. Only in retrospect did he question what he had heard. Surely Dirge and Starscream were not to share themselves?

Starscream pressed Dirge into a particular alcove and shut a sliding partition behind them. “Open,” he said.

Dirge complied, again trusting Starscream to look on his spark. Starscream, again regarded the spark while keeping as much distance as possible. “Halo is still present,” he said, “fainter than before. I have to say I believe it is dispersing.”

“You mean, I'll lose it?”

“No, Dirge, it simply never was. I told you, a halo is not the same as a newspark, it only sometimes is able to coalesce.”

Overcast took notice of their conversation. “Do you need assistance? I have some experience.”

“He does,” Starscream said.

“Yes, I would have Overcast's assistance and experience as my own.”

“Safe to enter?”

Starscream appeared, agitated, to Dirge. He wished to shield Dirge with some part of himself, but shied from putting his own chest closer. Instead Starscream side-stepped and pressed a portion of his wing close against Dirge's open canopy and spark chamber. “Now, quickly.”

Overcast opened the partition, stepped inside the cramped cubicle, then slid the partition back into position. He could see Dirge was anxious, twitching. Starscream seemed completely lacking in so-called berthside manner; he cringed from Dirge's exposed spark. Overcast put claws to Dirge's shoulder and leaned in close to examine his spark. “Relax,” he said, “In absence of actual elder kin to advise you in such a situation, perhaps you might regard me as something of a subject matter expert.”

The use of jargon relaxed Dirge, more than even he expected. He had not really understood that he might be at disadvantage in not having surviving elders, but learning of the lack and having it filled all in a nanoklik sated his greed. “Is it normal?” he asked.

“Were you trying to conceive when you got the halo?”

“No, but when there seemed even a potential for it, Swindle seemed really happy.”

“Probably happy to sell it,” Starscream said skeptically, pressing his wings to the interior of the cubicle to make room for the examination.

“He was just happy,” Dirge said defensively, “I was, too. You don't understand, My Creator. Swindle is older than I am by stellar cycles, and he has never had offspring. Even if it was just all some conditional programming, I know it was important to him.”

“I believe you,” Overcast said, “it is a natural reaction. A mech should feel proud at the prospect of successful breeding and continuing his lineage. But, I must concur, this halo seems to be dispersing.”

“Oh.”

“The good of it is you can always try again! Even while you still have the halo.”

“That's good to know,” Dirge said. His posture relaxed further.

“Was it your first time?” Overcast inquired.

“With the three,” Dirge replied honestly.

“Then you may tell the other two that you should all be proud. A halo on a first try with a young mate like yourself is a very good sign. You've a strong spark, Dirge.” Overcast whispered then, “Mine is gold, too.”

Dirge often liked to think that he possessed things that others did not, but in this case, everything Overcast said was reassuring. His spark was normal, strong. “Everything is all right. We can just make another one.” 

“Right. Cid and I are trying, too.”

“Trying is fun!”

Starscream sighed. Overcast and Dirge looked to each other, realizing a camaraderie as mechanisms who shared in a type of experience from which Starscream was thus far excluded. “It is fun!” Overcast agreed. “Important to always remember that. Just keep having fun, and soon you'll find yourself with a strong newspark.”

“You can close-up now,” Starscream grated miserably. He saw Dirge closed his spark chamber and cockpit canopy. “Go,” he ordered.

Dirge grinned at Overcast then slid away the partition to exit.

“He is a lot like you.”

“He's my slagging clone.”

Overcast laughed, because Starscream was being rather juvenile himself at the moment. “You used to be like that: hungry, curious.” Before the war. Before Starscream lost his kin and his friend.

“I still want; it is different now, I have had to accept there are things I want and cannot have. I am angry that I accept it.”

“Rather insightful.”

“I can be insightful,” Starscream insisted, “It is actually very easy with versions of myself running around on the outside.”

“Technically not insight then.” Overcast saw Starscream was not amused. “You can share my berth in the recharge loft.”

“No.” Starscream had planned to use the limited facilities in his lab. He was here to work.

“You used to get in our berth all the time.”

“Just to recharge!” Starscream said, too defensively.

“Same thing now,” Overcast said. Starscream was his Lord. Acid Storm had made it so long ago, on behalf of their trine. Still, Overcast could clearly remember when Starscream was an Academy brat they knew from the neighborhood; and when, a little older, they had all worked for a neighborhood Boss, taking care of their own during pre-war conflicts.

Starscream nodded. “I'm not well lately. Scalpel is helping me take care of the matter. I will be myself again. Better. Soon. The faction needs their figurehead.”

“You truly are our Liege,” Overcast said, “I would recommend caution with any of Ravage's progeny, however.”

Starscream walked from the shielded cubicle through the lab and along the corridor to the entrance to the loft, just behind the Hyperion's cockpit. Overcast walked with him. When they reached the door, Starscream finally spoke. “I know the rumors, too, and I've lately suspected there is some truth behind them, but I trust Scalpel.” He shrugged, “I even trust Ravage in so much as I know she will act according to her own interests, and that of her progeny. They are not ones we can afford to have as enemies right now.”


	38. The Big Bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra warnings for the chapter:
> 
> Current events trigger flashbacks of a character's dark past with vague references to possible torture.  
> Hallucinations.  
> Characters discuss Cybertronian equivalent to sexual intercourse and the equipment and mechanics thereof.  
> Characters are just in a dark processor-space right now.  
> Possible creepy uncle vibe from one character.

Jhiaxus Liege Centuro could not afford emotion right now, with such important work to do. He stood at a workstation in his orderly laboratory aboard his starship, comparing two samples of silvery protomass in separate containment fields. Both had been harvested from his own biomorphic reproductive system – his studies had revealed long ago that a mechanism with active biomorphic systems could postpone 'budding' indefinitely if the protomass were removed before it reached critical 'mass' – no pun intended – and was infused with spark energy. Jhiaxus found the silvery foundations of Cybertronian life fascinating. It was not, on its own, sentient, but it was alive. In this state – that which inferior, throwback factions cultivated into their protoforms – the protomass was pure potential. It was blank, ready to take on whatever characteristics of life with which it may be infused. It might become a sentient being, or merely a replacement limb for one damaged beyond ability to self-repair. It merely needed appropriate input.

The sample on Jhiaxus's right, designated Iota.Chi was the control; harvested from the reservoir behind his vestigial cockpit. The sample on the left designated simply Sigma; was the case study. It had been harvested in the same manner, but launched into the tormented space of the Benzuli Expanse on a tethered probe and then retrieved. It showed promise.

Previous experiments with the Expanse had not been so successful. The previous live subject had returned from the Expanse rather wrong. After after cycles of study, Jhiaxus could only conclude that although it moved and persisted in showing other apparent signs of life, the subject was no longer live. Jhiaxus had launched the specimen back into the Expanse, with a tracking beacon, should he need to find it again. He was going to have to replace Rook; good help was hard to find.

The doors opened. Grindcore entered; the drab navy and olive deco, with arm-mounted cannon barrels and battle mask worn outside of combat expressed his status as a military mech. He lacked the appropriate bearing for a Commander, in Jhiaxus's calculation; he jaunted to the console and with the flick of a rotary dial silenced the music.

Jhiaxus sent a wireless command to raise the playback volume, though not quite to the previous level.

“Sending me right into sleep mode.”

“You have business here, Commander?” Jhiaxus asked.

“The Prime suggests, My Liege, that you tie-up your studies of the anomaly. We are deploying to New Kaon.”

Jhiaxus seethed inwardly, containing the emotion. He had rank and title, but he was not a member of the Imperial Military, as the Prime and his Sub-Commander. In some things, the military currently took precedence. “On whose order?”

“The Liege Maximo. Cyberforming in the Gorlam System is complete. If you have not been able to show our Liege reason to continue your study here, that is not my concern. This Starship and its forces, yourself included, are ordered to New Kaon.”

Straxus must have failed, again, Jhiaxus thought. He did want time to continue study of the Expanse, but it was true he had his latest case study he might take away with him. If he lost the resources on New Kaon, it would also also delay his studies.

Jhiaxus looked up to a monitor over his workstation, where a blinking blip lit the screen just over the location of the blue star. “New Kaon is not without its own resources and subjects of interest,” Jhiaxus said coolly.

“We depart this duty cycle.”

New Kaon knew nothing of the plans of the Imperials. Even Straxus was not informed, though he feared. It was said The Maximo had spies everywhere; and some claimed, dark, otherworldly powers. Straxus did not truly wish to believe in the omniscience of any one mechanism, any more than he believed in Wizardry, yet just just as he feared the real power of the perception of the supernatural on a superstitious population, he had fear of what an organism composed of discreet parts spread across galaxies might be capable. Perhaps The Maximo had no spies; only collective parts of himself. Straxus, a Decepticon, feared he could be part of that collective, without conscious knowledge of his complicity.

For better or worse, the arrival of Lord Starscream and his Seekers had driven the suspicion and fear of the encroaching, too-friendly Empire from the processors of most other Decepticons. While Starscream was outside of the city proper, those he had left in charge of Darkspire, predominantly Thundercracker and Skywarp, were determined to make certain the inhabitants of New Kaon believed strong leadership was present – and it was not the governor.

Thundercracker had taken to spending time without Darkspire between the arena and The Bird Cage. He had not as yet participated in the fights for sport or prizes, but he was now a prominent spectator, rumored to be scouting for Decepticons for his team. He studied the combat with interest. Often, Skywarp was with him, but not all the time. Skywarp had found interests of his own. He also could be found at the Bird Cage for evening refuel, but he had discovered the holomatter arcade was not too scary.

Sunstorm was doing his part to represent the team, when not in the sky playing with other jets, he could be found in intellectual discussion with the denizens of New Kaon. He visited temples, barracks, gaming houses, archives: places both high and low. Otherwise, he returned to Darkspire to support Ramjet, who was finding himself strangely responsible. He spent his time not flying, refueling, recharging, or admiring Red, in Operations. He was doing a fair job of tracking the whereabouts of team members, monitoring communications and deploying Defense drones against loiterers.

Slipstream kept to her quarters. She was beginning to worry the others. Skywarp was not even certain she had been out to fly. Thundercracker said it was time for the third-in command to do her part to keep up appearances. He did not enter her chamber to give the command, but departed for the arena and left others to solve the problem.

Skywarp had been feeling somewhat awkward in regards to Thundercracker, since they kissed the night of the reception, but he did not let it affect his duty. He made appearances in public with his Leader and carried out his orders as usual. Usually, Skywarp was one who could get along well enough with Slipstream; she was less evasive with him than most others. But, she had not appeared or commed for a few days, even when he sent comms to coyly inquire whether she were well.

Skywarp went to Operations. Ramjet was there, a weapons console serving as footrest, as he watched the security monitors. Skywarp did not know how, but Ramjet had been making his self-assigned monitor duty look like fun. He had no appearance of being taxed or wishing to be anywhere else. Red was in a seat nearby, reading something from a datapad. A few empty cubes and cans littered the workspace.

“Can Slipstream still override Operations from her quarters?” Skywarp asked.

“Is the Magnus an Autobot?” Ramjet asked by way of reply. He trusted Slipstream to be able to access anything, but some links were reciprocal. He sat straight, rolled his chair along the floor, and tapped at another console. The monitor now showed Slipstream, apparently seated and motionless, with her back to a door. Thundercracker would be angry if he knew, Skywarp thought.

“Private quarters are not supposed to have cameras,” Skywarp noted. He hoped no one had been watching him when in his chamber!

“A Decepticon City Commander would never have use for being able to monitor his subordinate's duty stations.” Ramjet was quite capable with Operations now; he had found the technical manual.

Skywarp watched the monitor from one optic, not certain he wanted to see. His fear was confirmed; Slipstream was hardwire connected to her comm terminal and not moving. “Why didn't you tell one of us?”

“Are you going to tell TC?” All it would do was send their peerless leader into a fit of 'disgraceful'. 

“Don't call him that.”

“She's not in any danger, physically,” Red Alert spoke up, “I would have said something, if that were the case. Vortex brings her energon. She takes a break, occasionally.”

Ramjet tapped at the console again and brought up on a secondary monitor a piece of previously recorded, time-stamped video, showing Vortex coming in through the door behind Slipstream. He placed an energon cube on her workstation and then left.

“He does know there is no way he is their third...right?” Skywarp asked. He had been fairly certain of this himself, but suddenly feared he had been mistaken and felt need for confirmation.

Ramjet shrugged, and leaned back in his chair again. “Maybe Uncle Vortex was impressed by her interrogation skills.”

“Or her disregard for interplanetary treaties and professional codes of conduct,” Red added, “He was in prison for what he'd done to First Aid and Blades.”

“W-what d-did he do?”

“In legal terms, we call it 'torture',” Red Alert said icily.

Skywarp supposed Red Alert was not going to provide details. He did not fault her personally, but now, whatever Vortex had done, would be the worst thing Skywarp could imagine. It probably did not involve tentacles, but it probably involved glue and rotor blades, and maybe even some creepy, disorienting, isolation within his cargo space. “W-well, anyway, it is dangerous for Slipstream to dive,” Skywarp said, putting effort into not stammering. “Even Thundercracker shows concern about her doing it.”

“I'm sure you have a completely normal amount of anxiety about it,” Ramjet said sarcastically, even as he moved his chair to put himself in front of Red Alert. “Why don't you just warp in there and tell her to get out?” He asked, the back of his wings to Skywarp.

Yes, he should, Skywarp thought. He should be at least as responsible as Ramjet – more.

“She did tell Ramjet at one point that she was trying to find what has happened with Trypticon on Cybertron, but we are monitoring for the same here,” Red Alert said. It concerned her, and Ramjet in turn, that they had not had a reply from Cybertron. Did they disbelieve their intelligence on the possibility of the prison being compromised, or had something happened to prevent them from replying? The only reassurance was that the public data nets did not have any news about the prison up and disappearing.

“I am seeing Glyph and Vortex together now, seriously,” Ramjet laughed.

“That is not funny,” Red Alert said, smiling through her lie.

Skywarp did not get their sense of humor. He did not understand that Ramjet could say absurd things simply to make Red laugh, so she would not dwell on the things that disturbed her.

Skywarp warped from Operations, back up to his chambers shared with Thundercracker. He exited immediately into the corridor and found Vortex already there. “Are you actually stalking her?” Skywarp asked.

Vortex gazed blankly at Skywarp with his red-amber visor. Skywarp found it off-putting, to say the least, but he was determined not to be frightened of his subordinates. Vortex now had the little blue bunny tattoo that signified full membership in their team; it was along his left leg and translated to nose art when in his alt-mode. Skywarp supposed this meant that Vortex, and probably Swindle, would remain with them, even after they departed New Kaon. Still, he did not quite know why Vortex was with them.

“Can you persuade Slipstream to leave her chamber and go out?” Skywarp asked.

“Was that supposed to be a command?” Vortex asked in the static-edged drawl of his calmer moods.

Skywarp focused for a nanoklik on how Starscream addressed his subordinates and then spoke again. “Use your skills of persuasion to convince Slipstream to pull out of her dive and get out of Darkspire for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Slipstream found the security measures installed within the data networks of myriad races as much a failure as a wire-mesh door on a submersible built for air-breathers; there were so many small gaps, a flood could pass through. Like the particles of matter passing through the gaps between those of another presumably solid substance, Slipstream slipped through their defenses. She pushed her consciousness through an intricate series of relays: conductive cables, radio communication towers, fiber optic lines, flashing lasers, tachyon transmitters, crystal nodes, ansibles – planets, natural and artificial satellites, research probes, space stations, starships, shuttlecraft – a computing device as big as a mountain, a tiny comm node beneath a child's skin.

Slipstream penetrated and circumvented their protection. She exploited small virtual gaps and worked them, until data flowed freely. She pushed through, establishing, in her wake, a nigh-untraceable maze of compromised systems, until she found the access she wanted.

She was in: connected to a terminal within Trypticon Maximum Security Detention Facility. It was not native to Trypticon, but a select piece of Autobot hardware installed to control prison systems, and connected to the Autobot's Security and Enforcement network, which was in turn connected to the Autobot Council and Elite Guard networks.

Now, the terminal was hers: its system vulnerable and open. Slipstream swam joyously through its circuits, and finally to the sensitive data of its core programming. The kernel shimmered before her in the virtual wireframe perceived by her processor. With care, Slipstream inserted a pre-prepared packet of code.

Her virtual seed merged with the core and instantly began to replicate according to its programming. Virtual tendrils of code began to reach out to nearby subroutines.

Mission accomplished.

Slipstream withdrew, slowly, closing openings she had made, resealing the ethereal passage, as if she had never entered there. She could hear Vortex speaking, but was not quite lucid enough to know whether he whispered or shouted, or from where his voice came.

“Wake up,” he said.

Slipstream withdrew fully into her shell. She could sense Vortex in proximity to her right side. She saw the dark, navy and purple mech with urban camo armor at her right side, as she stretched her arms overhead. Slipstream ran her claw-tips over the null rays mounted on each arm, and then reached forward and tugged her cable from the workstation. It retracted neatly back into the housing in her neck. Slipstream touched the claws of her right hand to the port, and closed the small cap over the end of the i/o cable, so the port was hidden and flush with her neck plating.

“Skywarp ordered me to persuade you to get out out.”

“He ordered you?”

“The Commander asked nicely, first.”

Slipstream trilled laughed. “How were you going to persuade me?”

If someone else had asked, he would have answered, “take you for a ride,” but, crazy though he was, Vortex knew that was not the way to persuade Slipstream. The behavior Slipstream generally exhibited intrigued Vortex. He had observed signs of suspicion, in Slipstream, that his interest was common and physical, but Vortex did not think he was capable of those feelings, anymore. He was uncertain how he might persuade her, if she truly resisted. They had avoided resistance thus far, because Vortex complied with her orders and phrased his own plans as suggestions. He had a strong belief, based on observations over a lifetime, that if he pushed, she would not resist, but play along, comply, until true emotions were in danger of being revealed. She took the path of least resistance, until she got emotional, or believed her emotions would otherwise be known, and then she evaded and deflected. Vortex complied in turn, and so he had the opportunity now to be near Slipstream and observe her, without the bitterness, argument or evasion of which others complained.

“I was not even going to try,” Vortex drawled, finally. “How was the dive?”

“I accomplished the mission I set for myself,” Slipstream replied quickly. There was little evasiveness, Vortex noted. The answer was vague, but straightforward.

Liquid might run along a straight course, if that happened to be the path with least resistance. Slipstream was not evasive to the point of being fluid in all things. She was decisive so long as she perceived a clear and logical path. It served her in commanding sorties as well as in diving. She could be trusted to plan a mission; ask how she felt about another being, and she could not easily be pinned.

Vortex found himself wondering, more frequently, how Slipstream would respond to imprisonment or interrogation. Sometimes, in his graphics processor, he envisioned them in an interrogation room culled from some long past memory. Slipstream was, so far as he knew, the only Seeker among Starscream and his clones, to not once have been restrained, or captured – Dirge had gotten himself lured to a secluded location and nearly killed. Though he wondered, Vortex felt no desire to interrogate Slipstream himself.

He suspected he liked the idea of Slipstream being untouched and unbroken, while having the propensity and potential to break others. It was fascinating. He was starting to fantasize.

“You know the city a little better than I do,” Slipstream said.

“Maybe,” Vortex replied easily. He had been to New Kaon before. “It is more accurate to say I have contacts here you do not.”

Slipstream knew Vortex had not lived in New Kaon that much longer than she had; his team had considered it one port of call among many, but it seemed right they should both get out of Darkspire together. Skywarp had ordered it. They had worked well together thus far. “May I make use of your contacts?”

“If they allow you,” Vortex said, laughing, “I would be willing to put in a good word.” The celebrity that Slipstream was right now, some would still show bias against her for being young and unproven, yet highly ranked. Others would distrust her simply for being a flier. “Can you act modest, if needed?”

Fair question for one of Starscream's clones, Slipstream thought. “If that is the best means to associated with your contacts.” It seemed only logical, to her. Sometimes social engineering was like throwing passwords at a simple security device, other times a lot of personal feelings got involved. “I want to find a source of upgrades: power rectifiers, drive expansions, custom i/o ports....”

Slipstream was not looking for undercarriage neon or landing gear in a new shade. And it did not sound to Vortex like she wanted weapons. That meant he did not need to rely specifically on those contacts he shared with Swindle – though Swindle had some contact with all manner of merchants within the faction. “I know a few mechs who may serve, if you have more specific needs, they will know who else to ask.”

Slipstream and Vortex departed Darkspire via the landing bay high in the tower. They flew over the cool-toned Decepticon construction to one of the high-rise towers further from the center. Slipstream transformed to root mode and alighted on the skywalk. Vortex approached shortly, hovered over the walkway, and transformed as he cut power to his rotors. The blades still spun slowly along his back as he straightened.

Needlenose had a fashionable microchip studio in the adjacent tower. Vortex entered first, being somewhat acquainted with the designer. Slipstream entered, from the walk, just after Vortex. The interior was showroom made to simulate the atmosphere of manufacturing clean room. The colors were all white and silver with hints of muted violet: clear Decepticon branding. The materials and surfaces were selected to minimize electrical discharge. There were a number of widely-spaced, vacuum-sealed cylinders displaying sample wares and secure, tiny drawers containing stock of merchandise.

Needlenose approached, seeming to have no other visitors, except for a couple of small, organic Nebulans wearing exosuits, talking amongst themselves in one corner. He recognized Slipstream immediately; having seen captured video on the local data nets. He stared, even as Vortex moved to intercept him. Slipstream had not seen Needlenose at the reception, or at the Bird Cage or even in the skies. He was a pale mech, clearly a flier from the prominent wings in root mode, with light purple and lavender armor.

“Slipstream,” he said.

Vortex spoke, “Commander Slipstream is looking for suppliers of hardware her team may use.”

“I see,” Needlenose said rapturously.

Slipstream did not speak, but made a nod to Vortex, then began meandering about the showroom. Vortex was glad his battle-mask and visor hid amusement so well. It would not do to have the vendor think Slipstream desperate, poor, or powerless before they negotiated, so Vortex continued acting the part of the mean assistant, while she looked like a haughty Seeker who could not be bothered. What Vortex had not learned from watching Swindle operate, he had learned from observing others. Slipstream had access to Starscream's lifetime of memories, and one did not survive being Megatron's Second without some diplomacy to make up for difference in strength. 

Vortex might have overestimated Slipstream's need for a good word; it was more she needed a partner to aid her negotiations. They could manipulate Needlenose more easily two-on-one. Of course, this fed the fantasy Vortex had: the other Slipstream that had been forming in his processor space. When he was most lucid, he knew the two were separate, and he knew which one was real. They were not currently in a featureless interrogation room.

Needlenose soon began inquiring with Vortex about their micro-circuitry needs. Slipstream was the one who knew her needs and wants, and Vortex was not about to have Needlenose think him uninformed, so he asked, “Whatcha got?”

Needlenose kept his optics on Slipstream's slow perusal as he began rattling off some well-practiced pitch about bleeding-edge designer microchips, and why anyone who wanted to be anyone, in the Decepticon faction, needed some to give them an advantage in performance – and status merely by installing his chips.

“Commander Slipstream does not need your microchips to improve her status,” Vortex said.

Needlenose considered this. He had not been out much, but he was well connected in the virtual sense. There was a rumor going about that Skyquake – infamous for his neon – had recently gotten a black re-deco just to impress Slipstream and Starscream. The rumors about Starscream had been outstanding: his coming back from the dead and arriving in New Kaon, while Megatron and other high-ranking Decepticons were Autobot prisoners. Slipstream put the city in gossip overdrive. Supposedly there were a lot of Decepticons courting her or Starscream, some were planning challenges, and others just wanted to transfer to Team Luna. It might just be possible, Needlenose thought, that Slipstream could lend his designs status.

“Commander,” Needlenose called, as he maneuvered past Vortex. “Allow me to give you a gift.”

If you pursue, that's all you'll likely do, Vortex thought, onlooking.

“What's the occasion?” Slipstream asked bitterly.

“That is – I should have said – a free sample, yours to try with no obligation or charge.”

“Of course,” Slipstream said pleasantly. “I can see your designs have some merit. If I like your sample, I might make a purchase in the future, or give you recommendations.” There was no guarantee in Slipstream's tone, but there was no bitterness or refusal, either. “Perhaps this model of power rectifier?”

Needlenose nodded. “You have a good sense for micro-circuitry.” It was his best, but he was confident a gift now would mean future benefit. Needlenose retrieved one of the securely packaged rectifier chips from a drawer and presented it to Slipstream. She did not subspace the small packet, but quickly tucked it inside her cockpit.

Slipstream spent half a klik telling Needlenose why Lord Starscream was good for the faction and hinted that Team Luna had plans for increasing the numbers in the Decepticon faction again. She left then with Vortex to the skywalk.

Their next stop was Gutcruncher's shop. It was across the city, not far from the center, and along the ground. Slipstream looked up and noted several old, dispersed vapor trails, and then the identifying silhouettes and formation of the Predators: Skyquake and four smaller jets, with Falcon in lead position. Talon tipped his wing from the outside of the formation as they passed overhead.

“You ever walk?” Slipstream asked, then looking down to the dark, ground level streets below.

“To what purpose?”

“Any.” To escape the notice of jets overhead, she thought to herself. Slipstream hopped from the skywalk and used her thrusters to slow her descent to the street. She looked up and saw Vortex transform, lower himself, and then transform again. “I want the Predators for our team, except that Skydive is possibly an Autobot spy, Falcon seems unable to relinquish command, Skyquake's personality just clashes, and I'm not sure what Stalker could offer.”

“So, really you just want to recruit Talon and Snare?” Vortex made a staticy chuckle.

“I don't want to be the one to break the set.”

Vortex understood. He'd worked with teammates before. Onslaught said there was a place for him, even Swindle, if they wanted it. But then, Onslaught had been the one to make the plan that called for Vortex to be where he had, doing what he had, when the Autobots had captured him as an enemy prisoner of war. And, Onslaught hadn't planned a rescue from Trypticon. While Swindle, who was supposed to be disloyal to everyone but himself, had gotten himself involved with the plot to compromise Autobot control of Trypticon, and then acted with such blatant stupidity in getting himself caught that Vortex was willing to bet currency against him that Swindle had gotten himself arrested on purpose, just so he could keep Vortex company...and maybe play with Smokescreen.

“If the set is going to break, it's going to break.” Swindle was all about The Kid now, and Onslaught had a plan to join forces with Mega-Octane. Vortex snickered at the image rendered from his imagination: Onslaught carefully planning the order of baths. “It's just water,” Slipstream said, but Vortex felt his engine choking.

“If a band breaks up, and there is a femme nearby, it is always her fault,” Slipstream said. The real Slipstream, who knew nothing of the water or baths rendered within his processor.

“Earth logic,” Vortex said slowly. It had to be. Teams disbanded. It happened. Ridiculous to think feelings about any femme could break a team that was not already fractured over something else, like important matters of supplies, loyalty, rank, courage or honor. “If you are trying to go unnoticed, I could always carry you.”

“I didn't say I was trying to avoid anything!” Slipstream snapped.

“You would never say that, Commander.”

Slipstream huffed through her vents. She did not like other knowing what she would or would not say, much less patronizingly informing her of their insights. Focus, she reminded herself. “We can walk,” Slipstream said, “Let the grounders stare. I hardly had a chance to experience what the streets of a Decepticon city are like, when we were out looking for Dirge.”

Vortex walked after Slipstream. He was calvary. He was built to quickly get in and out of difficult spots, even under enemy fire, and take care of mission objectives while he was there. He could drop a squad of cycles, provide cover fire, reinforce his team on the ground, or air lift prisoners or wounded. Of course he could walk. Vortex was not so certain about the design of turbine heels, which he noticed, very many Seekers had, even when their alt modes varied.

Slipstream did not consider her own manner of movement unusual, as it was hardwired into her shell, even though she could perceive that Starscream's manner of movement was airier than that of many other mechs. Secretly, she assumed that her notice of how Starscream moved, at all, was due to the fact she had been in love with him since the instant she came online, and did not consciously consider all Seekers to have a peculiar manner of movement in comparison to other mechanisms. The turbine heels were made of a tempered Cybertronian alloy and quite durable, if anything it was the particular articulation of Seeker joints and transformation schemes that made it seemed they had no legs for land.

The ground level spaces were used largely as warehouses, but there were also services and shops that served the Decepticon populace, either run by members of the faction, or by individuals from other races, which had been admitted to the city and permitted to operate with in it environs. There were for example, full service Chromite parlors, as well as Skuxxoid trading posts.

Slipstream and Vortex strolled past a Torkulonese Spa, just as Motormaster and three of his teammates exited. Vortex had encountered Torkuli before, and the Alya species from their homeworld. Their services were referred to as clinics, spas or sanatoriums, depending on the local translation; the public perception was that patrons were glitched, or malfunctioning in the processor, and used the marketed image of the clinics as places of rest and rejuvenation as a front for their recovery. Vortex chuckled as he saw the team of stunt-driving grounders come from the spa.

“Is he laughing at me?” Breakdown demanded.

“Let's kill the twirly bird!” Wildrider suggested.

Motormaster punched his right fist into his open left hand, suggestively. “You!” He said to Slipstream, “What did you Seekers do to Dead End?”

Vortex's rotors rattled; he almost threw himself between Motormaster and Slipstream, which would have been utterly foolish.

“Wouldn't you like to know!” Slipstream snarked.

Dragstrip sidled up to Motormaster's right side. “Don't do anything to ruin all we just accomplished!” he hissed.

“I want my teammate back!” Motormaster insisted.

“Does it look like I have him?” Slipstream asked.

“You abducted Dead End for your forced breeding program!” Breakdown accused.

“I did no such thing,” Slipstream said, then leapt into the air on her thrusters, transformed to jet mode and climbed. She was not going to sell-out her youngest brother to the Stunticons; they could learn the truth when Dirge or Dead End saw fit to give it to them.

“Wrong Seeker,” Vortex said, then similarly transformed and climbed.

They flew the remainder of the distance to Gutcruncher's shop.

The entrance was below street-level, under a warehouse and a maintenance station for jets. Gutcruncher was a mech with green and gold deco, and the distinctive 'track-marks' of sealed transformation seams. Slipstream winced as she realized the weld-like swell about the seams meant Gutcruncher would likely never transform again. It was a sign of serious replication error in the self-repair system that came with advanced age, or use of a controlled substance like nucleon. Gutcruncher displayed no other signs of age.

The interior of his shop was in opposition to the clean room image of Needlenose's studio, from which they had come. The grey surfaces were dimly lit and cluttered with shelving units and bins of used parts.

“Anything I can help you find?” Gutcruncher asked.

“Just looking,” Slipstream told him.

Vortex and Gutcruncher exchanged appraising looks. Not too much of a market for Cybertronian copter parts, Gutcruncher thought, but then there was not much of a supply, being the copters were rarer than jets or cars. If he had some parts, he could charge a premium to the next copter who was injured enough to be in need.

Gutcruncher gave Slipstream a glance. He'd heard about the recently-arrived Seekers. They brought the number of Seekers almost up to what it had been during the Great War, and being clones the parts were easily interchangable, so there would seem a market. Yet, Gutcruncher suspected their elitism meant they would not take kindly to any selling used Seeker parts, knowing they could only have come from a fallen comrade.

“Let me know if you need any help,” Gutcruncher called.

Slipstream slowly perused the wares, as she had in Needlenose's establishment. It was not her true intention to make purchases, but to familiarize herself with the available parts and modifications, before proposing acquisitions to Thundercracker. The bulk of Gutcruncher's stock was general modifications that would be compatible with any Cybertronian mechanism, rather than mods for a specific type or model.

Slipstream spent some time looking over mods intended as replacements or alternates for five-digit hands. Among these were hooks, guns, grappling line launchers, saw blades, and nozzles for ejecting liquid substances. There were even two, three and six digit manipulators available. They were not to Slipstream's taste, but if Gutcruncher had some towline leg-mounts available, she might add those to her list.

Slipstream wandered to the back of the store. Vortex found here there a while later, intently studying the bins of interface modifications. A few nanocycles later, Gutcruncher approached them both. “You two looking to make yourselves more compatible?” he asked.

“More compatible with what?” Slipstream asked in flat, serious tone.

Vortex cackled madly, unnerved partly by the awkwardness of Gutcruncher's assumption about their relationship, but mostly by his own inability to resolve his idealization of Slipstream as unbroken interrogatrix, with the potent visual of the young Seeker femme's claw-tips fondling the protruding metal spike on a particular interface array circuit board.

Gutcruncher grinned, quickly perceiving Slipstream's naiveté in such matters. “Why, compatible with whatever your pretty little spark desires.”

“I like the word 'interface',” Slipstream said honestly, thinking it nothing so important she should deny or hide the fact, “It has a nice sound: interface.” The Decepticon pronunciation naturally had clear, high tones followed by tones laced with static and hiss. “A shared boundary between adjacent bodies. A point at which independent entities communicate or interact. The performing of interaction between two or more independent entities.”

“A beautiful thing to share,” Gutcruncher said, thinking to exploit whatever sense of romance the femme had in order to make a sale.

“You speak in the computer science usage...right?” Vortex asked. 

Slipstream lifted a mod from another bin, this one displaying a grouping of nubby tentacles. “I am only interested in how they work,” she said seriously.

“Well, when one mechanism is attracted to another mechanism-” Gutcruncher began.

Slipstream cut-off his explanation. “I don't want a running commentary of the mechanics involved! I do have some idea what interface equipment does. What I want to know is how it works.” Slipstream dropped one of the circuit board modifications back into the bin, and flipped the other to point out the connections. “How does the interface array interface with the mechanism being modified?”

“I'm not a medibot, but don't they have some kind of standard connection?” Vortex asked. He had such a mod, but it had been installed so long ago, that he could not quickly recall the details.

“They are considered internal modifications,” Gutcruncher said, “they don't fit external ports, like weapon mods. The hardware was to be properly installed. It need not be a medibot, any skilled technician could do the job with a set of specifications.”

“Technical specifications. Yes. What are they? The interface mod must connect in some manner to the neural network. Correct? Through the sensor net?”

Vortex began to suspect Slipstream wasn't looking to make a purchase, but build a better interface array.

Gutcruncher was uncertain both of the answer and Slipstream's motivation in asking. “You don't have to worry your processor about it. If you make a purchase, I'll include the installation guide.”

“Who are you to tell me what should or should not worry my processor?” Slipstream demanded angrily.

“Tell me you are not trying to build your own device,” Vortex begged with unusual drama, his vocalizer low to keep Gutcruncher, still standing nearby, from easily overhearing.

Vortex's low, pleading tone distracted Slipstream from her rage. She was grateful, actually. Gutcruncher did not deserve to evoke emotional response in her.

“I just want to understand,” Slipstream said, turning to Vortex, though Gutcruncher remained a short distance from them. “If the point is to drive a system toward some manner of sensory pinnacle, and the device does that by sending some manner of signal through the neural network, why the mechanical devices at all? Why all the touching and grappling and penetrating of delicate hardware? Why not just send the signal directly? Why imitate such organic exchanges?”

Vortex felt suddenly like he was on the wrong side of an interrogation and something shameful in his past was being dredged-up from obscurity to weaken his defense. Slipstream was so...innocently...demanding. He wanted to answer. “Some intended partners are organic.”

“Really?” Slipstream had not considered that. She sincerely did not see the appeal.

“Yes.”

“But-but I know. I do not have the memory of doing it, but I remember awareness of others doing it, or at least claiming to have done so. Not with organics. Why is it?”

Vortex was uncertain whether he was fully engaged with reality. “Say again,” he said warily.

“Have you done it?” Slipstream asked. She said the words and Vortex heard, but he doubted.

“Yeah.” Then, “What about Starscream?”

“This isn't about him!” Slipstream insisted. It was, in an indirect way, but Vortex did not need to have the details. “And, it's not about you, either, so you can relax on that account.” She huffed a sigh through her vents. Sometimes, she started to suspect her gender affected her CPU, but then, she thought, it was more likely her gender was affecting all the mechs around her.

“Pay attention!” the other Slipstream said. Vortex flinched, though he knew she was not real. It was not, he knew, a full-on hallucination, and it was not a separate personality. He was not that crazy. She wasn't there. It was just, the more time he spent with Slipstream, the real one, something was triggered, and he did not quite understand what. “Fine. I'm fine,” Vortex said, “Just a little...put to the question.”

“I didn't think it'd be a problem for you. It's a basic matter of record you have a lot more experience than I do.”

Not just with interface equipment. “Ask.”

“Why is it? What's the advantage in it?”

“Feels good,” Vortex said honestly.

“That's just a signal to the processor.”

Vortex predicted a dark turn in the conversation. The signal. Signals could be falsified, controlled, generated at the touch of a button. “The whole process,” Vortex said, “Proximity. Movement. Surrender or exchange of control.”

“Trust? Love?”

“Sometimes, but not necessary for this.”

“But it's possible, for us – I mean for our kind – to feel good without the mods installed.”

“Yeah. Possible. With sparks or without. It's all a matter of reaching that state at which the neural network feeds the processor pleasure. Probably as many ways to do it without mods as there are types of mods.”

“And so I have to ask, again, why we have them? Doesn't it bother you not to know?”

Vortex chuckled. “I know what bothers you,” the other Slipstream said. “Not bothered,” he said.

Slipstream vented a sigh. “Vortex.”

“I'm here, Commander.”

“The mods must make it easier, faster, and allow for access by other races?”

“Yes.”

“It sounds like a liability. Something to exploit.”

She understood. “It could be.”

“With understanding of the technical specifications, one could likely implant a stripped down mod connected to a remote control. Just press a button and the other's system seizes with pleasure. It seems more efficient.”

“It seems cold and impersonal.”

“Oh.”

Slipstream was, Vortex could see, in some ways so like Starscream. She had his streak of cruelty and sadism, but it exhibited itself with the cold, impersonal edge of logic. She definitely had the same volatile emotions, and she fiercely tried to suppress them, clinging to efficiency and strategy. She masked what she viewed as her own flaws with biting banter. She did not seek to be captured, held or restrained. She wanted the chase, but she wanted her freedom to fly away. She was so willing to violate another's will, to dive another mind: bare metal and raw data without intermediary interface; yet, she was resisting the idea of personal contact between shells.

Sensory deprivation would not have worked on her. Glue and blades might have broken her, but not to any useful purpose. And if he let her, she'd violate his core programming without hesitation or remorse. 

“You want to find out if you like it?”

“You want to come back online with a new personality?”

Gutcruncher sounded a wordless chirp from his vocalizer, to remind them he was there. Vortex gave him the blank mask and visor, but Slipstream glared hotly. “If you two seriously have the need to debate the history of interface modifications, there is someone currently in New Kaon who may prove informative.”

“Who?” Slipstream asked.

Vortex thought he knew. “I know someone,” Vortex said. “Commander,” he said.

Slipstream gave a nod. She found her focus and made her posture and expression pleasant. “We will return to purchase some tow cables, I think.”

“You know?” Gutcruncher asked Vortex. “The prisoner.”

“I know who can help us,” Vortex said, not supplying further information.

“You know his location?”

“I can find what we need,” Vortex said, putting just a little effort into sounding like the situation was effortless. Gutcruncher was probably looking for a referral fee, or to broker information. Slipstream understood the situation and left quickly with Vortex.

“Is there really someone?” Slipstream asked, when they were well away from the shop.

“Yeah, I know who he means. He's been in custody for some time. I actually helped bring him in. Secret Police gave the order for capture and the Governor determined his sentence should be labor as war retribution. But he classified a military prisoner of war, so....”

“War prisoner? Then he's an Autobot?”

“Quintesson.”

Slipstream did not know the details, but she knew what all Cybertronians did: they did not like or trust the Quints. As far as she knew, even Starscream had never encountered one, but they were said to be out there. Quints featured as villains in recharge tales. There had been a war, long ago, before the Great War that determined modern factions, when Cybertronians had waged their battle to defeat the forces of the Quintessons.


	39. Hurt Locker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From here on the fic will include some M-Preg/Mech-Preg in the form of male-pronouned robots carrying around extra bits of life energy in their chest compartments. Not sure I've given this condition to any femmes, yet, coincidentally, but I don't intend it as a gender-related role in the fic. Just any robot can carry around the extra ball of energy.

Thundercracker watched as two mechs waged battle in the arena below. The current match was between Hun-grrr and Tantrum. Thundercracker did not have any real currency on the fight, but his superior foresight predicted Hun-grrr to be victorious this time. Tantrum's rage would likely be his own downfall; Thundercracker knew how emotional outbursts could speed one toward defeat...from the inferior template's memory, of course.

He had been to the arena often recently, so Thundercracker was able to use his detailed observations and keen analytical mind to determine who may be trusted, or just useful. He often saw the same Decepticons, with a minority of Imperials who had assimilated themselves into New Kaon. The games were run by Clench, a Special Teams Leader in rank, who had, Thundercracker supposed, lost his team to war or other circumstances. Now the dark mech, with the flatbed alt-mode, organized the matches, and trained fighters on the side. Thundercracker had seen him win a match against a cycle; Clench had a direct, brutal method of combat, which was vaguely reminiscent of Megatron. It was apparent Clench reveled in the combat, and did not fight for prizes.

The financier and promoter of many of the matches was Banzaitron. The arena was Clench's domain, but Banzaitron brought in many of the challengers from his school of Cybertronian martial arts, and put-up much of the currency and energon that encouraged participation in prize fights. Thundercracker did not know, yet, the full extent of their relationship, but he suspected much of their professional rivalry was played-up for the mob to add drama to the fights.

Even if the rivalry was pretended, the fights were real. There were no advertised or scheduled death matches, but Thundercracker had well-corroborated accounts, some being from Glit, who served the fighters as medic, of mechanisms offlining permanently after a fierce match. He had seen injuries for himself. Most high-power range weapons were restricted from matches, to prevent a fusion cannon ending a match before all bets were placed, as well as mechological warfare – Oil Slick still had a negative reputation among the arena crowd – but all other weaponry was allowed. The mob had a great love of energized melee weapons.

Clench entered the gate of the railed section of the gallery, above the arena floor, where Thundercracker was watching from his private box. He had invited the dark-blue Seeker to join him, having witnessed his continued patronage and focus, over the last several local days. He'd seen a figurative spark in Thundercracker that told him he was a fighter. What kind of fighter, Clench was yet unsure, but he was interested in finding out. Seekers were spectators of matches often enough, here and during their time on Cybertron, but it was unusual for them to go up against others in the arena.

Clench had heard about some heated battles between Megatron and Starscream, and though Megatron had fought in an arena, long ago, Clench had never gotten Starscream to deign to put on a show for him. It was something Clench had wondered about, from time to time, because word was Starscream was arrogant and smug enough to be convinced to make an exhibition of himself, and a particularly cruel fighter. His clone might be the next best thing. 

The match looked to be nearly over, as Clench reached the railing overlooking the circular field below. Have you considered my offer?” Clench asked.

He had asked Thundercracker if he would be willing to fight in a match. Thundercracker enjoyed sparring, he liked proving his superfluous strength and skill to others, but the idea of making himself an exhibition for others amusement had rankled his ego. After consideration, Thundercracker decided putting himself in a match might be an effective way to prove himself and inspire other Decepticons to follow. They lacked his particularly powerful perception, and therefore needed proof of his leadership potential. He would be victorious!

“I will fight a match in your arena,” Thundercracker replied. The mob cheered and Thundercracker imagined it was for his decision, though he saw Hun-grrr had dealt Tantrum the knock-out blow.

“Excellent,” Clench said. He already had the opponent selected. “We need to make some preparations. Would the night after this be to your satisfaction?”

“Fine,” Thundercracker said dismissively. “Who will be my challenger?”

Clench chuckled, thinking that Thundercracker assumed himself a champion. “I was thinking Skyquake.”

Thundercracker knew of Skyquake, but he had not seen the brightly-colored mech at the arena most recently; though he had seen his teammate, Stalker. There were a surprising number of mechs in new Kaon with flatbed alt-modes, some with missile or cannon mounts. Or, perhaps Thundercracker only perceived it as so, because he assumed all Decepticons would be drawn to flying alt-modes. “Have you gained his consent, yet?”

“Just spoke to him.”

“I have not seen him.”

Another laugh. “He had his deco altered.” Clench gestured toward some onlookers, across the arena, on the tier above.

Thundercracker spotted Stalker's red and blue deco, and then at his side the large plane all in black. “What possessed him to make that change?” Thundercracker bellowed. He would have noticed the change himself, if he had any reason to want to find Skyquake. Thundercracker remembered Cyclonus making light of Skywarp and himself, calling them 'repaints'. Cyclonus had paid! Thundercracker still bore his trophies as proof.

“He heard some femme didn't care for the neon,” laughing. Thundercracker did not see what was so very humorous.

Slipstream would be that femme. There were other femmes in New Kaon, of course, many pursuing Thundercracker. Still, he was well aware his sister and Starscream were in courtship and seeking a third. It ultimately was beyond his influence or control – as intimate matters of his liege and subordinates should be – but he did not like the idea of Skyquake as potential kin.

Thundercracker saw then, a tier below Skyquake, a grouping of mechanisms whose colors complimented each other enough to seem a set. Skywarp was there, with Barricade on his right, and Scalpel perched on his left shoulder. Thunderblast was at Skywarp's left side, speaking to him, or possibly to Scalpel.

Thundercracker looked away from them. Skywarp had come here to support him before the local refugee population, but Thundercracker still felt wretched when he thought that he and Skywarp had proven incompatible. It was a pain that went to his very spark and could not be resolved with ego or logic circuits. He was practically perfect; Skywarp was his intended, and therefore above reproach. That they were incompatible mates was something that should not be! Something had to be done. Soon, he would develop a most clever scheme and there little problem would be no more.

Yes, Thundercracker thought to himself, he was sure it would be soon.

Thundercracker excused himself, “I see someone to whom I must speak. I will return within the day to prepare for my match.”

“Get some recharge. I want you at your best,” Clench called, as Thundercracker exited through the gate. Clench wanted him in the arena, but they both knew Clench would be just as pleased to see Thundercracker lose as win.

Skywarp had seen Thundercracker across the arena, but had not approached. He had come specifically to give Thundercracker public support, but secondarily to do a favor for Scalpel. The excited mob of spectators at an arena match was a hazard for the diminutive doctor to navigate, without a bulk to carry him.

“The box, 'Warp,” Scalpel chirped.

Skywarp retrieved a slim, highly polished metal box from subspace storage and then offered it to Thunderblast.

“From me,” Scalpel said to the femme.

Thunderblast looked at the box. She and Scalpel had not really spoken since his return to New Kaon, though they had seen each other in passing. “A gift?” Thunderblast asked, hesitating to accept the box from Skywarp's claws.

Scalpel made a low wordless chirrup in apprehension and then, putting a pincher-claw across his chest, bowed and said, “Renew courtship?”

Thunderblast glanced briefly at Scalpel and then looked down again to the offered box. Their previous courtship had not failed, but simply gone without conclusion. They were like ships in a fog bank: passing, calling to each other, and shining lights in vain, without ever truly meeting. Thunderblast accepted the box, and after a nanocycle, opened the slim container. Within, she found an ornamental weapon, a sharp stiletto set with glimmering, dark gems. “Rust Sea pearls?” She was almost certain of it. The pearls were byproduct of the defense machinery of the Cybertronian bivalve, a creature native to the caustic environment of the Rust Sea on Cybertron. They were exceedingly rare, and even more difficult for Decepticons to acquire since their exodus.

“Stiletto,” Scalpel said proudly.

Thunderblast lifted her head and smiled. “You know me too well.” The metal blade was slim enough to penetrate a transformation seam and would wreak havoc on delicate circuitry; and unlike energy weapons, it suffered no loss of effectiveness in underwater combat. She noted the magnetic mount and fastened the stiletto to her right thigh.

Scalpel briefly returned his gaze to Skywarp, who was onlooking. The mounting of the gifted weapon was a definite sign of acceptance. Scalpel looked back to his intended. “Permission to perch?”

Thunderblast shifted her weight cutely and extended her right arm to Skywarp's shoulder. Scalpel skittered along her arm; Thunderblast shivered slightly at the forgotten sensation of pointy metal limbs dancing over her plating. Scalpel reached her shoulder and there nuzzled Thunderblast's helm. She giggled as she ran a claw-tip over the ends of his whiskers.

Scalpel trilled contentedly.

“You were saying something about courtship,” Thunderblast prompted.

“Intention to court,” Scalpel chirped.

“I acknowledge.”

“Prove worth?”

“Off to a good start,” Thunderblast replied. Scalpel did not have the physical prowess of a Decepticon such as Megatron, but he did have intelligence, rank and skill, not to mention encyclopedic anatomical knowledge. He'd always known how to make her feel good. “Consider our courtship renewed,” Thunderblast said. The doctor may not have the bulk to act as her protector in the usual sense, but supplying her with weaponry was a good way to enable her to protect them both, plus, Thunderblast had some idea what Scalpel could do to a larger mech, when he believed his allies lives were threatened. It was in his programming to fix, not destroy, but he could use his vast knowledge to disable a mechanism easily enough. And, in dire circumstances, Scalpel could take a life to save others.

Scalpel felt the admiration flare from Thunderblast's energy field and responded with attraction, devotion and willingness to protect. Thunderblast turned her head and showed pouting lip plates to Scalpel. The doctor adjusted his balance on her armor, and pressed his mandibles to Thunderblast's lips in a kiss.

They parted. Thunderblast turned her head. Though she said nothing, Scalpel was confident it had been good for them both. His processor perceived the kiss as briny, which to his calculation was a very good thing. “When was last examination?” Scalpel teased.

Thunderblast sighed. “It's been too long!”

“H-hail Thundercracker!” Skywarp said loudly at their side.

Thunderblast quickly straighted to attention, as she sensed Thundercracker's presence behind her hull-wings. “Hail Thundercracker!” she chorused, as Thundercracker put himself at Skywarp's left side. Thunderblast shifted to make more room, but the crowd was thick enough, in anticipation for the next match, that she remained close.

Thundercracker gave a brief nod to Scalpel, who lifted a pincer to adjust his spectacles. He certainly seemed close with Thunderblast; desire was literally radiating from the pair. Even if Thundercracker did not approve Thunderblast's transfer to his team, she may have found a way to assimilate herself into their company. The doctor would not likely leave New Kaon without his intended mate.

Thundercracker turned his attention to Skywarp, and then to Barricade, on his other side. His little, glass winglets were touching Skywarp's right wing. One pair of his optics tracked up to Thundercracker. “'Cid needs me on shift,” Barricade said. He promptly slunk away into the mob.

“It is very crowded here...” Skywarp said, “'Cade's small, but he has Enforcer training, and he is known here.”

The Earth phrase “doth protest too much” was suggested from Thundercracker's memory, but he did not allow himself to believe that the little grounder and his math processor were threat enough to warrant overt acknowledgement. Thundercracker looked at Skywarp intently. That Skywarp could imagine Barricade as a suitable protector was preposterous. Barricade may not be worthy of attention, but Skywarp's thoughts were. Skywarp was Thundercracker's consort: a paramour and near-equal worthy of every consideration, whose private argument only made Thundercracker more nearly perfect and stronger. He need not look for protection outside their union. Skywarp must see this, Thundercracker told himself.

Thundercracker put the claws of his right hand to Skywarp's chin and drew Skywarp to him. “I am with you, now,” he said firmly. Skywarp smiled, but it was not quite that completely contented and carefree smile that Thundercracker desired. “And, you, My Dear Commander, need no protection from Enforcers, current or former.”

Skywarp bowed his head, faceplate rubbing Thundercracker's knuckle joints.

Slowly, Thundercracker withdrew his hand. He desired Skywarp, but all other issues aside, he simply did not judge it proper to seem too intimate with his Second, here in the arena. They should make their alliance clear for all to see, but strength and alliance was all the mob need witness between them. “I am scheduled to be in a fight. The night following.”

Skywarp lifted his head quickly to give an incredulous look, then took a cowering step back, bumping into a passing cool-toned 'copter with large gun mounted on his right arm. Skywarp flailed, slightly, then leaned in toward Thundercracker. He commed Thundercracker on their usual scheme, still-incredulous tone carrying over the unvoiced communication, 'Are you insane?'

'Watch your tone, Commander.'

Skywarp stared, optics wide on Thundercracker. 'I am yours, faithfully, still!' Skywarp commed.

Thundercracker wondered at this – for not even a nanoklik – that fractious little grounder with Enforcer tats lately hanging around was a bother to his logic circuit. Not a threat to me, Thundercracker told himself.

Skywarp continued, 'Are you quite serious? An arena match? It is my duty as 2IC to question, Sir!'

'You doubt my ability to win?' Thundercracker commed, holding Skywarp's gaze.

Skywarp lowered his face, ashamed of his doubt. It was true he usually admired Thundercracker very much, had confidence in him, and had long felt safe in his service. 'It is just – not that I doubt your strength, Thundercracker – Seekers aren't built for this type of combat.' Skywarp dared to look up. Thundercracker was still gazing at him, and seemed regal and imperious as ever.

'It is only Skyquake. I can defeat him. When I win, all the mob will know my strength. Others we have not yet encountered will be inspired to follow or join our cause. Our cause is more important than any one of us. If I take any minor injuries, we are acquainted with doctors enough.'

Scalpel had left with Thunderblast, Skywarp noticed then, but it did remain that Red Alert, Glit and Scalpel were all on peaceful enough terms with the team that they could be called to render services. “I will consider it my task to see that you have adequate support among the crowd, My Lord,” Skywarp said aloud. It was important Thundercracker did win, honorably, so the best Skywarp could do for him was provide all the moral support possible, and perhaps in doing so, give Thundercracker such an audience that his ego would drive him to victory for fear of losing face before a gathering of his subordinates. Skywarp would also do his best to gather what information he could on Thundercracker's opponent. Slipstream would have been the most suitable team member to assist with that, if he had not sent her out with Vortex. Otherwise, Skywarp would need to visit Acid Storm and drop Starscream's name to beg for the intel.

“Very good,” Thundercracker agreed, understanding that a loss in the arena – a distant possibility only conceivable through his own advanced modeling calculations – meant a loss of reputation in New Kaon, but also lost of reputation and rank within his team. He realized then, Skyquake faced the same risk, and the added risk of losing face before one he wished to court, if Slipstream were present.

Thundercracker hoped, for all their sakes, this matter of a third for their Liege and his Intended, was quickly resolved. Otherwise it would be a continued source of conflict, as everyone them met was potentially courtier or challenger.

And in the short term, Skyquake would be a very motivated opponent.

“Do you want to go refuel and recharge?” Skywarp asked, “Or do you need to study further matches?”

“I wish to observe the upcoming match,” Thundercracker said, then continued over private comm, 'I have been informed Monstructor is what they term a gestalt, a group of mechanisms that combine to some larger, collective form, with bonded sparks, or else a mechanism with singular spark and energy split across multiple shells. I am not informed which, but it is some of this Imperial science, in which Starscream was interested.'

Skywarp was also somewhat aware of Starscream's interests, though their Liege and Creator had been overall secretive, simply warning their team that Imperials had developed technologies distinct from Decepticon science; this included their methods of reproduction. It was part of their mission in New Kaon to learn what they may of the Imperials and their plans.

Below, in the arena, Clench announced the next match-up: Monstructor versus a the team of Snaptrap, Seawing and Tentakil. Odds were in slightly in favor of the three aquatic mechs. Monstructor had the ability to separate into six component mechanisms, which would otherwise have seemed to put the odds in their favor, but the six monster mechs were small in comparison to the Seacons.

“I will take you to meet Banzaitron,” Thundercracker told Skywarp.

“Yes,” Skywarp agreed. He had not been to the arena as often as Thundercracker – the crowds at the local gaming arcades attempted access into subspace pockets and bullied smaller mechanisms, but were still not as frightening as the mob here – but he had paid attention when his leader spoke of his experiences before recharge. Skywarp would have liked if he and Thundercracker could have gotten a lot closer, but that unfortunate kiss had not only stalled all progress, but made them too uncomfortable with their situation to even show the affection they had before. They did not even play the same games they once had.

Barricade would touch him. He was getting more daring about it; Skywarp understood it was very likely done to cause strife. Leaning into him, at the moment Thundercracker approached, so that Thundercracker could see the wings touching. Barricade sometimes outright claimed to want to avoid notice of his superiors, but a lot of his actions said otherwise. Skywarp suspected Barricade wavered in his priorities, between his career and his perverse sense of fun, especially if he was at risk of boredom on the job.

They did have fun together, but if Skywarp let Barricade come between Thundercracker and he, then he lost the game. Skywarp liked games; he was good at them. He really did not like to lose. It was often his fear of losing that kept him driven, when a situation would otherwise paralyse him with fear. So long as he viewed things in the context of a game that had rules and could possibly be won, but had the negative result of loss, the cowardice nicely transformed for him, into a competitive edge. This game was about attachment and loss, about making others feel, without yourself feeling hurt. Skywarp liked that it felt a little...more advanced than the games he had played with Thundercracker. Skywarp was determined to win. He just needed to find a way to get to Barricade, before Barricade could get to him. 

Thundercracker wanted to win his match, and Skywarp wanted to win his.

The mob about them seemed only to want carnage. Skywarp wondered whether he should comm Slipstream and Dirge now, to distract himself from the crowd, or remain guarded until he was somewhere safer. Sometimes, he wished he had just slightly more of that narcissism some of the others had, so he would not find it so strange that others looked at him. He was cute, of course, Skywarp thought, but that really served to worsen his anxiety, as he thought his particular faction was not known for a love of the cute.

“Can we go to Japan?” Skywarp asked, the words coming out in English, when he thought about Earth.

Thundercracker replied, a string of mechanical language with 'Nihon' somewhere in the middle. “I understand from 'Japan' the assumption you are making, but there are better times for such discussion.”

'I don't like this crowd,' Skywarp commed.

“I do not much like the press of the crowd, myself,” Thundercracker agreed, and brushed several camouflage-decoed mechanisms out of his way to reach a staircase to an upper tier. He muttered something about disgraceful, unwashed and lowly. He replied to Skywarp by comm, in English, 'Being both cute and a giant robot, by human standards, should serve you well in Japan.'

Skywarp smiled. He wished Thundercracker could see it, but he was walking in front of him. Instead, Skywarp ran a single claw-tip along the seam between Thundercracker's swallowtails, as he climbed the stairs before him.

The swallowtails fanned slowly open, and then remained guarding Thundercracker's back struts, rather than spread to their most open configuration. That was punishment, Skywarp decided. Slowly fanning tails and teasing glimpses of support struts, circulatory lines and control cables. He wanted badly then to touch, but propriety demanded he restrain himself. Or, Thundercracker would devise an even more severe punishment later. He refused to be that mech who regularly beat and shot his Second, but that did not mean he lacked for means of discipline. He was just: more creative.

Banzaitron saw the two Seeker clones approach his box on the uppermost tier. With monitoring devices places below and output in his box, his view was better than that of those on the sidelines, only he did not have to deal with the splatter and shrapnel that inevitably showered the mob. Thundercracker entered first and then introduced Commander Skywarp as his Second-in-command.

Skywarp bowed slightly to the grey mech with purple and green detailing. He thought Banzaitron might be an aquatic type, though he did not have Thunderblast's distinctive hull-wings. He had, to Skywarp's opinion, a lot of guns mounted for a martial artist. Stormshadow activated, appearing at Skywarp's right leg.

Thundercracker glanced sidelong at Skywarp in obvious suspicion.

Skywarp supposed his anxiousness about meeting the heavily-armed prize-fighter combined Stormshadow's developing interest in martial arts had triggered the activation in autonomous mode.

“It is just Skywarp's plaything,” Thundercracker said dismissively.

Banzaitron looked down at the holomatter figure. “Do you put your puppet in fights?” he asked.

New Kaon had every kind of fighting. Skywarp had heard of holomatter combat, at the arcade. There were fights between holomatter combatants, mostly avatars, but some were designed to run from external hardware under remote control, for those who did not like the idea of risking their shells in public, by transferring consciousness. Skywarp was not certain Stormshadow would be legal, given he was AI. He could assume full control and enter him as an avatar, but then it would mean a lot of fighting...and if they found out he was AI, even if not activated, it could cause trouble.

“He's AI,” Skywarp said.

“It operates under it's own intelligence.”

Thundercracker wished to distract Banzaitron from this subject. “Clench came to me and proposed a match,” he said.

“He just commed me as you were coming up,” Banzaitron said.

“Skyquake is to be my opponent.”

“A lot of guns,” Stormshadow said to Skywarp, in Japanese.

“That's what I thought.” They did share a processor, partitioned though it was. 

“He is master of Crystalocution technique?” Stormshadow asked.

Thundercracker had mentioned this during a discussion before recharge. “Yes.” It had come to light, when Thundercracker acquired his swords from Cyclonus, that Starscream had sword fighting protocols, though he did not currently carry such weapons. This was what had enabled Thundercracker and Stormshadow, through Skywarp, to use the weapons. The protocols came with basic level programming in Crystalocution, which Thundercracker had previously directed Stormshadow to use against the bounty hunter Crosswise.

Stormshadow was interested in learning more.

Skywarp gave a nod. “I need to use the comm,” he said. He saw that Stormshadow went to Thundercracker's side and stood at his left heel.

Skywarp placed a comm to Dirge. He received the pinged response to confirm the channel was active, but Dirge did not immediately speak to him. 'Dirge.'

No response. Skywarp's comm system said the connection was active and the signal strong.

'Dirge?' Skywarp began to feel anxious. He looked for Thundercracker. He was not looking back toward Skywarp, but standing close with Banzaitron at the railing. What if Dirge was dying again? What if...? 'You are not doing something...disgraceful?'

Dirge's laughter finally transmitted over the comm. He was in Starscream's small lab in the Seeker Research Facility, leaning over one of the workstations. He grinned at Starscream, who was standing opposite. “Starscream hates us to interrupt his lectures,” Dirge said aloud, as he let the words transmit directly to Skywarp over comm. He continued his conversation, unspoken, so that Starscream did not hear, 'You know how he gets to monologuing.'

Skywarp laughed. 'I need you to be within the city tomorrow night to provide support for Thundercracker.'

'What do you think of the designation “Hurtlocker”?'

'I'm afraid I have no idea what you are talking about,' Skywarp replied.

Starscream, who could not hear the comm conversation, gestured to Dirge. “You are supposed to be assisting. Hand me that glass rod.”

Dirge lifted the rod from a tray on the workstation and leaned forward slightly, as he extended his arm to pass the rod to Starscream. One of the silver masses near Starscream extended toward Dirge's canopy.

'Dirge?' Skywarp called over the comm.

Starscream quickly captured the protomass in a gel-coated claws. “Sample's a little more reactive than I expected,” Starscream admitted.

“I think it's a keeper!” Dirge told him, as he carefully twisted to put the glass rod near Starscream, without getting closer to the samples.

Starscream's expression went sly. “Yes. I do, too.”

Dirge grinned smugly at his creator, and Starscream mirrored the expression on his faceplate. 'Hurtlocker, for the name of My offspring,' Dirge commed to Skywarp.

'I think it is a little scary...that means it took? You are carrying?'

'That one dispersed,' Dirge commed sadly, and then, 'But I got a new one already! And it's strong!'

'Congratulations.'

'I got the first one. It's mine!' Dirge said proudly, 'Swindle doesn't like the designation; I thought he would.'

'Oh.'

'He's picking out weapons systems already, though!'

'That's good,' Skywarp said in a manner that was so like Ramjet's most deadpan statements that it was obvious he did not agree. 'Dirge, I need you to be in the city tomorrow night, to support Thundercracker.'

'Support? My Leader?' 

'He's going to fight in the arena against Skyquake.'

Dirge relayed this information to Starscream. “We will go!” Starscream told him, “We will all go show our utmost support for the General!”

'Starscream says-' Dirge started.

'I heard. I think he opened comms to everyone,' Skywarp guessed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, the first part of the chapter was all a big homage to Megatron Origin 2.
> 
> This was the last chapter posted before I stopped writing for a long time, for reasons previously noted. I'm going to be attempting to write for this fic again. Upcoming chapters deal with all these various parties converging on New Kaon and ya know...action and drama ensues. At this point, it's gotten to be a lot of characters to keep track of, but I'll do my best.
> 
> There are also several related fics that sort of jump ahead and tell what happens after the big upcoming conflict, and back on Earth. THose will be added to the series.


End file.
